The music was already playing when he noticed it.
She wasn't perfect—her steps weren't sharp, her counts weren't precise—but she moved like she trusted the rhythm. Like she wasn't trying to impress. She laughed when she missed a step, corrected herself without embarrassment, and somehow made it look effortless.
He stopped suddenly.
She almost bumped into him.
"What?" she asked, slightly breathless.
He looked at her for a second, then said, "You dance well."
Her eyes widened. "I do?"
"Yes," he said simply. "You don't force it."
She smiled, a little proud, a little shy. "I told you. I just feel the music."
He nodded. "That works."
They tried another sequence, this time closer. She teased him mid-step, exaggerating a move just to make him laugh.
"Stop ruining the choreography," he said.
"I'm improving it," she argued. "This is too serious."
While still moving, she suddenly said, "What if we don't make it serious at all?"
He turned toward her. "What do you mean?"
She spun lightly, thinking out loud.
"What if we make it entertaining? Like… funny. Unexpected."
He raised an eyebrow, still dancing. "You're planning something. I can see it."
She grinned. "Imagine this—you become the girl. I become the boy."
He missed a beat.
"You want me," he said slowly, "to become a girl."
"Yes," she said, nodding enthusiastically. "I'll woo you. Full drama. Overacting. We'll mix songs. People will laugh, enjoy, remember it."
He stopped again, hands on his hips.
"Do you honestly think that suits my personality?"
She tilted her head, pretending to examine him.
"Not at all."
"Then why would I do it?"
"Because it won't suit you," she said proudly. "That's what makes it entertaining."
He stared at her for a moment… then laughed.
"You're impossible."
"And creative," she added.
They tried a few exaggerated moves, both laughing too much to take it seriously. Eventually, he waved his hand.
"Break," he said. "Before one of us pulls a muscle."
She collapsed onto the chair dramatically. "I'm fine. You're just old."
He scoffed. "Excuse me?"
"Relax," she said quickly. "Experienced."
He went to the counter and came back with a bowl of fruits, placing it between them.
"Eat," he said. "You'll behave better."
She picked one up. "Snacks while planning a performance. This is serious work."
He leaned against the table, standing while she sat, arms crossed comfortably.
"So," he said, calmer now, "you really think comedy will work?"
"Yes," she said between bites. "Everyone expects you to be intense. Let's surprise them."
He watched her for a moment—the way she spoke with her hands, how relaxed she looked now.
"You enjoy teasing me," he said.
She smiled. "Only because you pretend you don't like it."
"I don't," he replied.
She looked up at him. "Then why are you still considering it?"
He didn't answer immediately. Then, quietly,
"Because it sounds… fun."
Her smile softened.
Not excited.
Not dramatic.
Just happy.
They sat there, sharing snacks, ideas, laughter—no pressure, no overthinking.
For once, it wasn't about what they were avoiding.
It was about what they were building—step by step, beat by beat.