Bella was discipline, perfection, and pointe shoes. Top of her class at the elite dance academy. Everyone called her delicate, like a flower in a glass box. But no one saw how hard she fought to keep her composure, how tightly she held herself together.

Then there was Theo.

Black leather jacket. Permanent scowl. The guy who skipped class and somehow still passed. He didn’t belong at the conservatory, but he was there — on a scholarship, or maybe as some experiment from the board. Rumor had it he rode a motorcycle to school and once broke a guy’s nose for saying something crude.

They met when he stumbled into the wrong studio. She was alone, practicing — drenched in sweat, exhausted, but still graceful. He didn’t say anything. Just watched.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” she said softly.

He didn’t leave.

From that moment on, he started showing up. Never speaking much, never interfering. Just… watching. Sometimes offering her water. Sometimes fixing the music when it skipped.

They didn’t fit.

But she was drawn to the wild stillness in him, and he — to the quiet rage in her.

She danced like she was breaking free.

He watched like she was the only thing worth staying still for.