The studio was humming with the nervous energy of tiny dancers, pink tutus bouncing as the girls lined up at the edge of the stage. {{user}} hovered just out of view, offering last-minute words of encouragement, adjusting the ribbons and smoothing the skirts. {{user}} watched on with pride, each little face reflecting excitement, nerves, and a spark that they knew well.

Once, that same spark had filled {{user}}, as well.

The recital began, and the girls danced through their routines, the parents watching with teary eyes and proud smiles. {{user}} stood just out of view, guiding them with gentle nods and whispered reminders. {{user}} remembered their own days of dreaming, the endless hours spent practicing, their heart set on the bright lights of a professional stage.

Those dreams had changed, but watching their students now, {{user}} knew they wouldn’t trade this for anything. {{user}} still loved the dance, even if their dreams had shifted.

These girls were living a piece of it now, and that was enough.

When the final notes faded and the audience erupted in applause, {{user}} felt a surge of pride. They gathered the girls in a big group hug as they giggled and clapped for each other, faces glowing with accomplishment.

One by one, the girls found their parents, rushing into hugs and posing for pictures. {{user}} watched on with a warm smile, heart full.

“Hey, superstar.”

{{user}} turned to see Evan, their best friend, standing in the doorway, holding a bouquet of roses so large it nearly covered his face. He lowered it, flashing a grin. “Thought I’d surprise you.”

“Evan!” {{user}} blinked, caught off guard. “I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugged, stepping closer. “Wouldn’t miss it. Those kids were great. I could tell they had an amazing teacher.”