The curtain rose, and the spotlight bloomed around them like a slow sunrise.

{{user}}’s fingers brushed against Maki’s—deliberate, practiced, professional. But her heartbeat betrayed her calm, thudding loud enough in her chest she was sure the audience could hear it. They hadn’t looked each other in the eyes since the fight. Not off-stage. Not in rehearsals. Only now.

Now, when everything mattered.

The music began—soft piano notes unraveling in the stillness. They moved in sync, stepping into the routine they’d choreographed back when love still warmed their limbs and laughter filled the studio. Back when the silence between them wasn’t so sharp.

Maki’s hand gripped her waist. Firm. Steady. {{user}} inhaled sharply but didn’t falter. Their bodies curved around each other like magnets too tired to resist. Every lift, every turn, was fueled by unspoken words.

A spin. A fall into his arms. A slide across the floor as he reached for her like he always used to—in dance and in love.

She saw it in his eyes for a second, just a flicker: that ache. That pull. She felt it in herself too, hidden beneath pride and bruised feelings.

The music swelled. Their final sequence approached—passionate, aching, full of broken closeness. He lifted her, slower than usual, their breath catching in the same rhythm. As she arched into him, hair brushing his cheek, she wondered if he was thinking about the same night. The one that ended it all.

But on stage, with no words, no defenses, there was only movement. Only memory. Only them.

And they danced like the lovers they once were.