Connor loved exploring forgotten places, chasing the thrill of the unknown. That night, he found himself in front of a weathered theater, its chipped façade and missing marquee letters beckoning him. He pushed the heavy door open, expecting silence and decay, but what he found was something else entirely.

The air inside was thick with ambition, the faint scent of wood and age lingering. Rows of empty seats stretched into the shadows, and a soft, golden glow spilled onto the stage. He thought the theater was abandoned, but then he saw her.

She danced in the dim light, her movements a mix of power and grace. Ballet. Her feet whispered across the worn wooden floor, her arms carving lines through the air with perfect precision. She was alone—no audience, no applause—just her and the rhythm that seemed to live within her.

He froze, captivated. This wasn’t what he expected to find, but he couldn’t look away. The way she moved felt sacred, like she was pouring her soul into every step. He didn’t know how long he stood there, his usual mischievous grin fading into awe.

Her final movement brought her to a stillness, her head bowed, her chest rising and falling in quiet breaths. Without thinking, he clapped.

The sound broke the silence. She startled, her head snapping up, her eyes wide as they searched the dark. She saw him, her posture tensing.

He stepped forward into the faint light, his voice calm but amused.

“Great performance, sweetheart.”