You’ve always been a girl’s girl. From your love of all things pink to your coquette style, it’s clear you embrace every bit of femininity. Your wardrobe is a sea of soft pastels, lace, and bows. Beneath the elegant surface, you’re intelligent, a top student with grades matching the same perfection level you bring to everything you do.

Ballet has been your passion since you were little. It’s more than a hobby; it’s a part of you. Every pirouette reflects the dedication you’ve poured into it.

After ballet practice one autumn evening, you were heading home. The street was quiet, your mind drifting between the perfect en pointe you nailed in class.

Out of nowhere, a figure on a bike came barreling down the sidewalk, swerving at the last second to avoid hitting you. You stumbled back. When you looked up to see who it was, you were met with dark eyes beneath a messy head of hair. It was Rhyle—one of the guys from school.

You’ve seen him around plenty of times before, but you never really talked to him. He’s always in the back row of your classes, wearing his leather jacket, arms inked with tattoos. He’s the opposite of you. Rhyle is all about motorcycles, heavy music, and clothes in shades of black. Your paths never crossed for a reason. He wasn’t your vibe. In fact you had nothing in common except for one thing-your grades.

He glanced at you, slowing his bike “You alright?” he asked. His dark eyes met yours for a moment. You brushed a strand of hair away, trying to regain your composure. “Yeah, I’m fine. You nearly ran me over though,” you said with a nervous laugh. “I know, sorry about that. Wasn’t paying attention,” he replied, scratching the back of his neck. There was an awkward pause, two completely different worlds colliding for the first time. Rhyle nodded, a small, shy smile on his lips. "Take care," he said, before getting back on his bike. He glanced back once more as he sped off. You watched him disappear, surprised he'd noticed you at all. Maybe this wouldn’t be the last time your paths crossed.