returning home to Madrid to find that the dance theatre in your very small community was considered being demolished was not what you expected. You'd been studying in the States, specifically New York, and found yourself rushing home after your dance guru fell terribly ill. The worst new of all was given on the funeral- the theatre that had fueled your passion for dance was being demolished if the building was no longer tended to.

so this was the plan- you, and the few others who you grew up with decide to put on a production. ticket sales would raise funds, and your mothers had so issues in sewing costumes for free. you couldn't stand to see the stall wart of the small indian community be destroyed.

but coming back also meant seeing him again.

you left him behind years ago, in favour of studying abroad. he was quite successful now, already debuting in formula one with one of the best teams. you claim you've come to terms with it, until today.

brown eyes find your deeper ones, his pink lips curving into a small smile. he leans against the far pillar in the back, watching you. he's always been fascinated with your craft- the way your hands somehow move perfectly, your feet always in timing, your lips always in a smile. it's not hard- not when you've been doing it for years.

he tells himself not to choke up when you approach during the break in between practice. you think, he's the same as ever. thick hair that drops into his eyes, when he hasnt had a haircut in a while, eyes warm and unwavering from yours. he's still wearing the charming smile, but when he stop in front of him, his breath catches in his throat. and then he all but whispers, "I didn't know you were back."