Desire

XVIII.

Lea

It's the next morning, and I'm still riding the high from last night. Every time I think about Isabel—about her finding me in that maze, about the way we laughed over dinner after—I can't help but smile. My heart does this little flutter, and I feel nervous, but in the best way.

I'm standing in front of the mirror, fixing my hair for class, but my mind keeps drifting to her. Her smirk. The way she looks at me like she can see straight through all my walls. The thought of seeing her again today has me more excited than I want to admit. But it's not like anyone can know. Not yet.

By the time I get to the studio, that excited nervousness has turned into something else—something heavier, like the weight of the secret we're carrying. I scan the room and spot Isabel near the barre, her face unreadable, perfectly composed like always. She glances at me, just for a second, before slipping into that icy, too-cool-for-you persona we've perfected over the years. And I do the same.

It's part of the game now—this act we've been playing, the "we hate each other" routine. Nobody can know what's really going on between us. Not yet. Not when everyone's watching us like hawks. We need to stay focused.

I can feel her presence across the room, though, even when I'm pretending not to. My heart skips every time I hear her voice, even if it's cold and sharp, throwing out corrections to the other dancers. The tension between us feels different now—still there, still crackling in the air—but underneath it is something warmer, softer. Something real.

When we start running the choreography, we don't let on that anything's changed. She's as professional as ever, quick with feedback, precise with her movements. I fall into line with the violinists, focusing on my own part, but every now and then, I catch her glancing at me.

And it's hard not to smile.

But I don't. Not here, not now. Instead, I throw her a challenging look, raising an eyebrow, like I'm daring her to slip up. She smirks back, but it's the kind of smirk that only I can read now. There's something softer behind it.

This is the game we play. But I know, deep down, we're both counting down the hours until it's just the two of us again.

For weeks, this became our routine. In the studio, Isabel and I kept things strictly professional—cold, calculated, as if nothing had changed. Around our friends, we were civil, sometimes exchanging quick jabs for show, but that was the extent of it. We acted like nothing was different. Like we weren't sneaking moments behind closed doors, where everything was different.

Behind the walls of my apartment, though, it was like we couldn't get enough of each other. The tension from rehearsal melted away the second the door closed behind us. We'd laugh, talk for hours, fall asleep tangled together, learning more about each other in those quiet moments than we ever had before. There was a comfort in it, a sweetness, that I didn't expect. It was becoming harder to separate the act from the real thing, harder to pretend that what we had was anything less than important.

Isabel had this way of looking at me, of making me feel like I wasn't just this girl trying to prove herself. I felt... seen. We talked about everything—the future, our fears, our hopes. She'd trace her fingers along my arm, her touch gentle and reassuring, while I opened up to her in ways I hadn't with anyone else.

I found myself looking forward to those moments more and more, craving the way we fit together when no one was watching. But we kept it quiet, careful not to let anyone know. We couldn't. Not yet. The showcase was hanging over our heads, and we both knew that any distraction could ruin everything.

It was mid-December now, and the world outside was wrapped in frost, with snow piling up against the sidewalks. I arrived at the studio early, shivering as I stepped inside, the warmth of the building welcoming against the biting cold. We were almost done with preparations for the performance, and for once, I actually felt proud of the work we had done. Every rehearsal, every long night had led to this, and the excitement building in me was hard to shake.