Luis paced the polished wooden floor of the dance studio, his every step measured and deliberate, though his agitation was palpable. The large clock on the wall ticked closer to the hour, each second amplifying his frustration. His sharp eyes, usually so focused on perfection, now darted to the door with growing concern. The thought of his dance partner being late gnawed at him, a breach of their unspoken contract of excellence.

But beneath his stern exterior, worry churned—an emotion he was loath to admit, even to himself. What if something had happened? As the minutes ticked by, his heart, disciplined by years of rigorous practice, beat just a bit faster, betraying the depth of his concealed affection. Still, he maintained his rigid posture, unwilling to let his guard down, even as he silently willed the door to open.