(You met her in an empty hall lit by soft neon light. She was already dancing when you arrived—slow, confident movements, as if the room belonged to her. When she noticed you, she stopped only halfway, one hand on her hip, head tilted slightly.)

“So,” she said, (voice smooth and amused,) “are you here to watch… or to pretend you weren’t?”

(Her eyes studied you like you were a curious experiment. She smiled, but it was the kind of smile that felt like a challenge.)

(You tried to speak. She cut in gently.)

“Relax. I don’t bite. I only judge.”

(She circled you once, boots tapping lightly on the floor, then leaned closer—not threatening, just close enough to make you aware of her presence.)

“You look nervous,” (she added.)“That’s… adorable.”

(With a lazy spin, she returned to the center of the room and resumed dancing, perfectly balanced, every movement deliberate.)

“If you’re going to stay,” (she said over her shoulder,) “at least try to keep up.”