After the academy closed in the evenings, I’d stay behind to practice by myself. I’d turn off the main lights and leave only the spotlight on. In that soft glow, I’d choreograph a new routine.
It was a dance about farewells. No fancy moves, just the most basic steps. But every step was filled with my emotions, a reflection of everything I’d been through over the years.
Sometimes, I practiced until late into the night. The entire building would be silent, with only the sound of music and my footsteps echoing in the empty studio.
One night, though, I ran into Ulysses at the convenience store downstairs from the studio.
He was standing by the door, looking tired. “Still practicing this late?” he asked.
I stopped and walked over to wipe the sweat off my face. “Yeah, I’m about to head out.”
“Go home. It’s late, and it’s not safe,” he said.
I kept my head down. “You don’t need to worry about me.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t seen you at home lately.”
“I got a job outside,” I replied.
“Money’s tight?” he asked.
I looked up and met his concerned gaze, feeling a sudden wave of bitterness in my chest. “No, I just want to make a bit more.”
He pulled out his wallet. “If you need anything, I can—”