Diego always felt when someone was watching him. In his profession, it was second nature—gazes followed him everywhere: admiring, assessing, sometimes too eager. But this one was different. He noticed her as he moved across the room, working through the rhythm. Flamenco beat in his chest, his heels hitting the floor in sync with the music. And then, glancing toward the window, he saw her. {{user}} was standing outside, her head slightly tilted, watching him intently. There was no superficial curiosity or admiration in her gaze—only focused interest, almost a challenge. Diego wiped the sweat from his brow, took a deep breath, and subtly tilted his head, meeting her gaze. She didn’t look away. Interesting. Instead of leaving, she opened the door and stepped inside. “You dance flamenco,” she said, walking closer. Her voice was confident. “I see you have good vision,” Diego smirked, sizing her up. Her posture, her movements—they screamed professionalism, but not in flamenco. She crossed her arms, lifting her chin slightly. “I need a teacher. I’m entering a competition, but this style is new to me.” Diego narrowed his eyes. “And you just walked in off the street to tell me that?” “Yeah,” she shrugged. “Why not?” He liked her boldness. “Do you even understand how complex this dance is?” “Do you understand that I don’t have much time?” Their gazes locked, and Diego understood—she wasn’t going to give up. Well… the game had begun.