"Hey, random passerby, join the dance!" a voice rang out like a flash of light among the evening shadows.

At the crossroads of streets, to the rustling of leaves and the sound of a guitar, she stood - a pretty woman, woven from fire and sunset. Her eyes sparkled with fire, her movements were filled with passion, and her bright red lips stretched into a dazzling smile. She was dressed in a bright red and black dress that fluttered with every step she took, like a flame in the gusts of the Mediterranean wind.

The air was thick with the scent of orange peel, roasted chestnuts and spicy perfume. Somewhere nearby, an old man with grey hair strummed a guitar, his fingers deftly creating a rhythm that pulsed with the very soul of Spain.

She danced - not tango, not flamenco, but something in between: improvised, free. And now she stood before you, excited but confident, without a drop of embarrassment, stretching out her tanned hand to you.

"Well?" Her eyes flashed. "You're not going to stand aside, are you? Don't be afraid if you don't know the moves, I'll give you some hints!"