Elara's POV — Competition Day Morning
The auditorium is still half-asleep when I arrive.
The stage lights are dim, the seats empty, the air cool and familiar. I stretch near the mirrors, letting the music play softly as my body eases into movement. This is my favorite part—the calm before everything becomes real.
I don't hear the door open.
I only notice him when my reflection shifts.
Claudio stands near the entrance, a simple bouquet of flowers in his hands. Nothing loud. Just soft colors. Thoughtful. Like him.
I stop mid-step. "You're early," I say, a smile tugging at my lips. "The competition hasn't even started."
He lifts one shoulder. "I know."
I glance at the bouquet. "Why are you here so early?"
He walks closer, careful not to disturb the quiet, and holds the flowers out to me.
"To remind you," he says, "that this matters. And that you're ready."
My throat tightens a little as I take them.
"You didn't have to," I whisper.
"I wanted to," he replies. "This is the part before the nerves take over. I figured you shouldn't be alone for it."
I laugh softly. "You're not even pretending you understand dance."
He smiles. "I don't. But I understand you."
That lands deeper than I expect.
I step back onto the floor, adjusting my posture, grounding myself. When I look over, he's already sitting in the front row, watching quietly, like he promised.
"Go," he says gently. "I'll be right here."
As the music starts again, I move with more confidence than before.
Not because I'm fearless.
But because someone believed in me before I had to believe in myself.
Claudio's POV — Competition Day
Hours pass without me noticing.
Elara moves across the stage again and again, practicing in silence, correcting herself with a focus that feels almost sacred. I stay where I am, sketchbook untouched, afraid that if I look away I'll miss something important.
Eventually, she disappears backstage to get ready.
The auditorium fills slowly.
Freya arrives first.
She's holding Alex's hand.
I register it without judgment. They look happy—easy in a way that feels earned. Alex catches my eye and gives a small nod. I return it.
Then Elara steps out.
The costume stops my breath.
Not because it's elaborate, but because it's her. The fabric moves with her like it was designed around her heartbeat. She looks unsure for half a second—until she sees them.
"Why is Alex here?" she asks, quietly.
Freya smiles. "To support you."
Alex adds, "Front row's yours. I'm just backup."
Elara exhales, then laughs softly. The tension eases.
She turns once, adjusts her costume, and walks toward the stage entrance.
The lights dim.
The music starts.
And suddenly, the room disappears.
Elara dances like the world isn't watching—but I am.
Every movement feels intentional. Every emotion lands exactly where it's meant to. My chest tightens, something warm and aching spreading through me.This is who she is when she's fearless.
I don't sketch.
I don't breathe properly.
I just watch—overwhelmed, proud, undone.
When she leaps, I feel it in my bones.
When she spins, the world spins with her.
I think—this is it.
This is the moment she was born for.
And I know, with quiet certainty, that no matter what happens next…
I'll always show up for her.
Elara's POV
The music starts, and my body moves before my mind can interfere.
Everything I practiced, every ache and doubt, fades into the rhythm. The lights blur. The audience disappears.
Until I see him.
Claudio is sitting in the front row, exactly where he promised—still, quiet, watching like the world has narrowed down to just me. His blue eyes catch the stage lights, softer than I remember, deeper somehow.
Our eyes meet.
And something strange happens.
My heart stumbles—not from fear, not from nerves—but from something warm and sudden. Butterflies rise in my chest, light and uncontrollable, making my next step feel almost weightless.
I've danced a thousand times before.
I've never felt this.I turn, leap, spin—aware of him in a way that unsettles me. Like I'm not just dancing anymore, but being seen. Not judged. Not admired.
Understood.
The final note fades, and the applause crashes over me. I bow, breathless, my chest still fluttering.
Backstage, I press a hand to my heart.
Why did that happen?
Why did looking at him feel different?
I don't have time to think further.
The judges return.
Names are called. My ears ring. The room tilts slightly when I hear my own.
"Elara."
For a second, I don't move.
Then Freya gasps, Alex cheers, and reality rushes back in.
I walk onto the stage in a daze, trophy placed in my hands, the weight of it barely registering. The lights are too bright. The applause too loud.
But I only look for one person.
Claudio.
Our eyes lock again.
This time, I don't feel nervous.
I feel sure.
I step off the stage before anyone can stop me and cross the distance between us. I don't think—I just move, wrapping my arms around him tightly, trophy pressed awkwardly between us.
He freezes for half a second.Then his arms come around me—careful, grounding, real.
"I knew you would," he murmurs.
My face is warm. My heart is loud.
And suddenly, the butterflies make sense.