The first time they danced to Dreams by Fleetwood Mac, it felt like the world had stopped. It was a party in a friend’s garage. The smell of cheap pizza mingled with the muffled sound of a radio barely picking up the notes of the song. He took her hand with a shy smile, and she, after a moment of hesitation, let herself be led. They were so young back then.

“I don’t know how to dance,” she said, laughing. “Neither do I!” he replied, and they both laughed together.

They spun clumsily, stepped on each other’s feet, and in the end, simply swayed to the rhythm of the music, foreheads touching, eyes closed. That moment, so simple, was the beginning of everything, the start of their love story.

Years later, the song played softly in their small apartment, where they had just moved in. The living room, full of moving boxes, felt even smaller with a disassembled crib in the corner. He found her sitting on the couch, gently stroking her rounded belly.

“Remember our song?” he asked, turning on the old radio on the shelf. He held out his hand to her, just like the first time, but now with more confidence.

She laughed but stood up, leaning on him for support. They embraced in the middle of the room, dancing slowly as the music filled the air. The baby moved slightly, as if listening too, his fingers gliding carefully over the rounded belly that housed the fruit of their love.

Much later, the living room was scattered with toys all over the floor. The baby, now a few months old, babbled while holding a stuffed animal. He turned on the radio, and the unmistakable sound of Dreams filled the room.

He pulled her close, holding the baby between them. It felt strange to dance with a third little member, but somehow it seemed natural. The baby’s soft giggles, mixed with the music, created a perfect harmony.

“Do you remember the first time we danced to this?” he asked, looking into her eyes.