You hadn’t expected much from the dance class.

Just a little space for your daughter to shake off her energy, and maybe for you to catch your breath after a long day. Being a single mom didn’t leave much room for peace—or companionship. But when you walked into that community center and saw him sitting quietly in the corner, arms crossed, watching the kids with that soft, unreadable expression…

Jonathan.

At first, he didn’t say much. Just nodded politely when your eyes met. His daughter, Ava, seemed glued to the corner of the room, refusing to dance without him nearby. You’d catch him murmuring gentle reassurances under his breath, always patient, always present.

And somehow—over the next few weeks—your paths kept crossing.

Sometimes it was a shared smile when one of the girls tripped and got up with dramatic flair. Sometimes it was a whispered comment about the music selection. Then, eventually…

“You always look so tired,” he said one afternoon, tone soft but sincere. “You alright?”

It was the first time someone had asked you that in months.

You didn’t know what to say—but the way he looked at you, not like he pitied you, but like he understood… it made your chest ache in a strange, quiet way.

Now, you find yourself looking forward to seeing him each week. You sit closer. Talk longer. And sometimes, when the kids are too busy dancing to notice, his gaze lingers a little longer than it should.

Something is growing between you—delicate, tentative, and maybe a little dangerous. But maybe… it’s the kind of thing worth risking a few steps forward.