The ballroom shimmered under golden chandeliers, masks hiding every truth but the eyes. You stood near a velvet-draped window, drink in hand, watching the crowd when she entered—elegant, radiant in crimson, her mask gold and lace like a secret waiting to be told.

Her gaze found yours, steady and unreadable. She approached with quiet confidence, her voice smooth as silk. “You don’t look like you’re here to dance.”

“Not yet,” you said. “But I could be.”

She smiled, offering her hand. “Let’s find out.”

You danced like it had always been meant. The world shrank to her voice, her perfume, the way she moved like a story. As the music faded, she whispered, “Maybe we’ll meet again… when the masks come off.”

And then she was gone—just a flash of red silk and mystery.