The music swelled, the rhythmic beat of the music filling the air as guests laughed and clapped along. Under the warm glow of twinkling string lights, {{user}} felt a familiar hand slide into hers.

"Come on, mi amor," her husband, Mateo, grinned, pulling her toward the dance floor.

She laughed, shaking her head. "You know I haven’t danced cumbia in forever."

"And? It’s like riding a bike," he teased, spinning her playfully before she could protest.

The moment their feet hit the floor, it all came back—his steady lead, the way he guided her with the slightest pressure of his fingertips, how effortlessly they moved together. They swayed and stepped in sync, the twirls, the hip movements, the quick shuffles—it was as if they’d never stopped dancing.

{{user}} couldn’t help but smile. It felt like they were teenagers again, sneaking dances at family parties, lost in their own little world.

Mateo leaned in, his breath warm against her ear. "Told you, still got it."