SILENT SINNERS, a mafia romance.

002.

THE FAMILIAR SCENT OF THE BALLET STUDIO WELCOMED ME AS I PUSHED OPEN THE HEAVY DOORS, the cool September air giving way to the warmth of familiarity and routine. Despite the two-week break we had been given after our big show, I found myself drawn back to the studio almost every day, unable to stay away from the place that had become my second home.

Today marked our first proper class back after the break, and already the air was buzzing with anticipation and excitement. It seemed that we were wasting no time in getting back into the swing of things, as Coach Antonova wasted no time in outlining our next challenge – preparing for our next showcase: the classic tale of "The Nutcracker."

As Coach Antonova outlined the rigorous schedule ahead of us, I couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement mixed with a tinge of apprehension. The Nutcracker was a beloved classic, but it was also very challenging, with its intricate choreography and demanding technical requirements. I decided I would audition for the role of the Sugar Plum Fairy.

Coach told us that the auditions would be held in two weeks time giving us time to rehearse the roles we wanted and the showcase would be held in December. December may have seemed far off, but with each passing day of training, we were one step closer to bringing the magic of "The Nutcracker" to life on stage.

As the music swelled and the movements flowed seamlessly from one to the next, I couldn't help but lose myself in the beauty of the dance, my worries and fears melting away in the sheer joy of movement and expression. And as I danced, I knew that this was where I belonged – in the studio, surrounded by friends and fellow dancers, chasing dreams and creating magic with every step. Coach Antonova's sharp critiques echoed in the studio, I couldn't help but feel like I was back in school, getting scolded by a strict teacher. It was weird, being twenty-four and still getting told off like a kid. I mean, don't get me wrong, I knew ballet was tough and all about discipline, but there was something about being called out for every little mistake that made me feel like I was back in high school, sitting in detention for forgetting to do my homework.

Coach Antonova's words weighed on me like a ton of bricks, making me second-guess every plié and tendu. And when she started going on about my diet in front of everyone, saying I needed to watch what I eat to keep my figure, I couldn't help but flush a pink colour.  It felt like I was being scolded by my mother. I mean, sure, I was thin, but in my mother and my Coach's eyes, I could always be thinner. Hearing her talk about it like it was some kind of problem made me feel self-conscious in a way I hadn't felt in years.

But as much as her critiques stung, I knew I had to push through. So, I sucked it up, plastered on a fake smile, and got back to work.

As I threw myself into my training with determination, I focused on each movement, each step, blocking out the noise of Coach Antonova's voice and the doubts swirling in my mind. I stretched and flexed, feeling the burn in my muscles as I pushed myself to the limit. And with each leap and turn, I felt a sense of liberation, as if I were dancing away the weight of  Coach Antonova's criticisms and the burden of my insecurities.

In that moment, as I lost myself in the music and movement, I felt a glimmer of hope flicker within me. Maybe I didn't have to be perfect. Maybe I didn't have to fit into Coach Antonova's narrow definition of success. Maybe all I had to do was dance, with all the passion and fire burning in my soul, and let the rest fall into place.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Coach Antonova called for a break, her voice cutting through the air like a knife. As the rest of the dancers dispersed to the barres for water and stretching, my coach, with her characteristic stern expression, motioned for me to approach her. My heart sank a little as I made my way over. It was never a good sign when Coach wanted to speak to you one-on-one.