I can’t believe this is happening.

I stare at my phone, rereading the last message over and over again, hoping I’ve misunderstood. Sorry, Mav. Can’t make it. Something came up. That’s it. No explanation, no apology—just five words that shatter months of preparation.

The competition is in less than an hour. Everyone is warming up, stretching, going over their routines. And I’m standing here, frozen, my mind racing through all the possible solutions. I could beg the judges to let me perform solo. Or maybe I could find a replacement, but at this level? No one’s just available last-minute.

I take a deep breath, trying to push back the frustration tightening my chest. If I let this ruin me before I even step on the floor, then I’ve already lost.

That’s when I see him.

Capitano.

Even in the chaos of the competition, he stands out—tall, composed, every movement sharp and deliberate. He’s the kind of dancer who commands attention without even trying. And right now, he looks as frustrated as I feel.

His partner is nowhere to be seen…Our eyes meet across the room, and for a second, neither of us speaks. Then, as if we both reach the same conclusion at the same time, we start walking toward each other.

“You lost your partner too?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.