dancing into her world / Taylor Swift

Chapter 1: A Chance to Dream

The sound of Amira's heartbeat echoed in her ears as she counted her steps in the small Berlin dance studio. The space was old, with cracked mirrors lining the walls and a creaky wooden floor that protested against every jump. The air smelled of resin and effort, a mixture she had come to associate with her life as a professional dancer. Her movements were fluid, precise, yet something in her mind kept pulling her back.

"Don't mess up." She repeated it over and over like a mantra, even though there was no one watching her now. No audience, no judges, no instructors. Just herself, the dim light of the studio, and the steady rhythm of the music she'd been using for her freestyle practice.

Amira paused mid-spin, her breath coming out in short bursts as she planted her feet firmly on the ground. She ran a hand through her long, blonde hair and sighed.

"Okay," she muttered to herself. "One more time."

Before she could reset her stance, the studio door creaked open, and her best friend Lena peeked inside. "You're still here?" Lena asked, stepping into the room with a brown paper bag in hand.

Amira shrugged, wiping the sweat off her forehead with a towel. "I needed to work on the routine. I didn't like how I finished the last eight-count. What's that?"

"Dinner," Lena said, tossing the bag onto one of the worn-out benches near the wall. "You've been at this for six hours, Amira. You need a break."

Amira hesitated. She hated breaks—they felt like surrender. But her stomach growled loudly, betraying her.

Lena smirked. "Thought so. Come on. Sit. Eat."

As Amira unwrapped the sandwich Lena had brought her, her friend pulled out her phone and leaned against the mirror. "I was going to wait until you were done, but I have something to show you."

"Not another TikTok dance," Amira groaned, rolling her eyes.

"No, it's not that!" Lena grinned. "This is actually important. Look." She shoved the screen in Amira's face, showing her an Instagram post.

Amira blinked at the image—a sleek poster with Taylor Swift's face front and center, surrounded by bold letters: AUDITIONS FOR THE ERAS TOUR DANCE TEAM.

"What is this?" Amira asked, her voice skeptical.

"It's your chance," Lena said, sitting down beside her. "They're holding open auditions in L.A. next month. Backup dancers for the Eras Tour. You love Taylor Swift, don't you?"

"Of course I do," Amira said. "Who doesn't? But do you know how many people are going to apply for this? Thousands. Tens of thousands, probably. I don't stand a chance."

Lena frowned, her playful demeanor fading. "Amira, you've been dancing professionally for years. You were one of the top ballroom competitors in Europe. And now that you've switched to contemporary, you've been killing it. Why do you always doubt yourself?"

Amira didn't answer right away. She stared at the screen, the details of the audition swimming in her vision. L.A. was far, expensive, and competitive beyond belief. But something inside her stirred—a spark of hope she hadn't felt in months.

"What if I'm not good enough?" she asked quietly.

Lena nudged her shoulder. "What if you are? Look, I know you've been stuck since you moved back to Berlin. You need something big, something exciting. This could be it. Worst case, you don't make it, but at least you'll know you tried."

Amira bit her lip, the sandwich in her hand long forgotten. The words Eras Tour seemed to shine brighter on the screen, calling to her.

"Fine," she said finally, exhaling sharply. "I'll go. But only if you promise not to let me back out."

"Deal." Lena grinned, holding up her pinky.

Amira shook her head but linked her pinky with Lena's, sealing her fate.

Three weeks later, Amira stepped out of Los Angeles International Airport, squinting against the harsh Californian sun. Her duffel bag felt heavy on her shoulder, filled with everything she thought she'd need for the audition. The city was overwhelming—tall palm trees lined the streets, and the air smelled of heat and ambition.

Her Uber dropped her off at a dance studio in North Hollywood, where the auditions were being held. The line outside the building was massive, stretching around the block. Dancers of all shapes, sizes, and styles filled the sidewalk, warming up, chatting, or sitting quietly with their headphones on. Amira swallowed hard, her nerves threatening to get the better of her.

Inside, the tension was palpable. The studio was enormous, with mirrors covering every wall and a panel of judges sitting at a long table at the front. One of them was Tyce Diorio, a name Amira knew well from his work on „So You Think You Can Dance". Her stomach flipped.

The first round was a group audition. Amira and twenty other dancers filed into the room, where they were taught a challenging piece of choreography. The movements were sharp and fast, with intricate footwork and dramatic arm extensions. Amira focused on the music, letting it guide her body.

When her group performed, she gave it everything she had, blocking out the other dancers and imagining she was onstage in front of thousands.

The second round was freestyle. Amira's heart pounded as she stepped forward, the spotlight blinding her. The music began—an instrumental version of Taylor Swift's Enchanted—and Amira closed her eyes for a moment, letting the melody seep into her bones. Then she moved, her body flowing like water, each step a story, each leap a declaration.

Halfway through her performance, the door at the back of the room opened. Amira didn't notice at first, too immersed in the dance, but when she glanced up, her breath caught.

Taylor Swift was standing there.

She was dressed simply, in a casual sweater and jeans, her blonde hair tied back. But there was no mistaking her. Taylor watched with a calm intensity, her arms crossed as she leaned against the wall.

Amira's chest tightened, but she didn't falter. If anything, Taylor's presence pushed her to move with even more passion. When the music ended, the room was silent, and for a moment, Amira wondered if she'd imagined the whole thing.

"Thank you," one of the judges said, snapping her back to reality. She nodded and stepped aside, her legs shaking.

The rest of the day was a blur. Hours of waiting, callbacks, and more grueling choreography. By the time the final selections were announced, Amira was too exhausted to process what was happening.

When her name was called, she froze.

"Amira Miller," the judge repeated, smiling. "Congratulations. Welcome to the Eras Tour."

Amira's hand flew to her mouth, her eyes welling up with tears. She had done it.

As she left the studio that evening, clutching her acceptance packet, she spotted Taylor again. This time, their eyes met. Taylor smiled—soft, genuine, and impossibly warm.

Amira smiled back, her heart pounding for an entirely different reason.