The fundraiser's music shifted to a softer tempo. The overhead lights dimmed slightly, replaced by soft amber sconces and the occasional flicker of a rotating mirror ball. Reflections slipped across the polished floor in long, dreamy arcs.
Mia stood near the back wall, watching as attendees paired off or swayed gently alone. The music was familiar—not a waltz, not modern either. Something from in between. The kind of tune that made time slow down.
Sarah lingered near a banner that read: "We dance even after storms." She held a paper cup of cider, now lukewarm. She didn't seem ready to leave—but she didn't move forward either.
Mia waited.
Then, slowly, stepped forward.
⸻
"Hey," Mia said gently, just loud enough to be heard over the music.
Sarah turned, blinking in surprise. "Hi."
There was a pause—tentative but open.
Mia extended a hand.
"You don't have to. Just thought… maybe."
Sarah looked at her. Then at the floor. Then at the hand.
She set down the cup.
And nodded.
⸻
They moved into the open space between rows of folding chairs and tables now half-cleared.
Their steps were uncertain at first. Mia let Sarah lead. Or rather, she didn't lead at all. She simply moved gently, a few beats behind, just close enough to echo without pressing.
Sarah's hands were cold.
Mia didn't ask why.
They swayed.
And the music folded around them.
⸻
Around the hall, no one watched too closely. The space had softened into quiet. Children had curled up on benches, adults whispered by coat racks. Volunteers began stacking programs into neat piles.
But here, under the mirrored gleam, two girls shifted in time.
Sarah exhaled.
"I don't really dance," she whispered.
Mia's reply was simple. "Me neither."
And still, they stayed.
⸻
The music faded into another track—this one even slower. Faint piano. A hint of strings.
Sarah rested her chin briefly on Mia's shoulder.
Mia went still.
Then moved again.
Each motion calibrated. Not rehearsed, but reverent.
She didn't think about consequences.
Not now.
Not in this moment.
⸻
From the edge of the room, a camera flashed. Subtle. Barely noticed. But Mia's eyes caught it.
She turned just slightly.
The photographer looked down, already flipping through preview shots.
Mia tightened her hold—not possessively, just a hair closer.
Sarah didn't notice.
Or didn't mind.
The photographer didn't raise the camera again.
⸻
The mirrored ball above them spun slower now. Reflections softened to gold and lilac.
Sarah's breath, when it hit Mia's shoulder, was steady.
Not frantic.
Not guarded.
Mia matched it, one breath behind.
Just there.
Present.
⸻
They passed the final notes of the song in silence.
When it ended, Mia didn't release Sarah right away. And Sarah didn't pull back.
Only when the lights brightened slightly, signaling a transition, did they shift apart.
Sarah pulled back, just enough to look at Mia fully.
"Thanks," she said.
Mia nodded.
"You okay?"
Sarah considered. "More than I was."
She stepped away slowly.
Mia let her go.
The space between them remained warm.
⸻
Mia walked to the coat rack, reached into her bag, and pulled out a safety pin—one she'd found weeks ago. Clean. Unmarked. But meaningful.
As Sarah stepped past, Mia caught her gently.
"Hold on."
She bent slightly and clipped the pin to Sarah's lapel.
"For later," she said.
Sarah touched it, confused.
Then smiled.
"Thank you."
Mia just nodded.
And disappeared into the crowd.
⸻
Outside, the air had cooled. A light drizzle had begun, misting the sidewalks and dampening the banner streamers that curled beneath the eaves.
Sarah stood beneath the awning for a moment, looking back through the glass doors.
The ballroom glowed. Faint. Soft.
Like something she'd visited in a dream.
Then she stepped out into the street.
Boots clicking gently on the wet pavement.
⸻
Mia watched her from across the intersection.
She didn't wave.
Didn't call.
Just kept pace.
A few seconds behind.
A few steps back.
Sarah didn't look over her shoulder.
But she didn't walk fast.
And when she reached the corner with the mural of the rising birds, she paused.
Mia stopped, too.
Sarah turned, just slightly.
Enough.
Then walked on.
And Mia followed.