If I Could Dance With You Again

IICDWYA: 43

Chapter 43

The hours blurred together beneath the relentless glare of set lights and the endless loop of playback. Aaliyah barely noticed time passing as she moved from monitor to stage, adjusting the angle of a dancer's turn, the tilt of a camera, the precise cut of a shadow across the floor. Her world shrank to the choreography, the music's pulse, and the language of bodies in motion—her phone forgotten at the bottom of her bag, its screen lighting up with messages she wouldn't see until much later.

Lunch was a hasty sandwich between takes, coffee cooling on the edge of a prop table. She called instructions, coaxed confidence from nervous rookies, and watched the day's vision take shape beneath her hands. Praise was rare—time didn't allow for it—but now and then, a dancer would catch her eye, gratitude and relief flickering in their expression after a difficult sequence landed just right. Those brief moments fed her more than any snack could.

Outside, the sky shifted from morning blue to dusk, but inside, the set hummed on, relentless. It wasn't until the final shot was called, the lights dimmed, and applause rippled through the exhausted crew that Aaliyah let herself breathe. Her body ached, a satisfied exhaustion settling into her bones. Only then did she remember her phone, its familiar weight now almost strange in her hand.

She smiled, anticipation fluttering anew as she unlocked the screen, ready to reconnect with the world she'd set aside to help create something fleeting and beautiful.

The next morning arrived sooner than Aaliyah would have liked, her limbs still heavy with the echo of yesterday's marathon. Even so, she was on her feet before dawn, coffee in hand and her kit slung over one shoulder, already rehearsing cue lists and camera angles in her mind. Today's shoot was set in a cavernous warehouse across town, and as she stepped onto the chilly concrete floor, she felt the familiar tingle of anticipation—a different stage, a fresh challenge, a chance to draw out something extraordinary from the swirl of music, light, and movement.

She lost herself in the work, hours melting into the constant shuffle of dancers, crew, and ever-shifting equipment. The director's voice cut through the clamor, calling for adjustments, and Aaliyah answered with the practiced calm of someone who knew how to solve problems on the fly. She mapped out formations, demonstrated steps, counted out beats, her attention unwavering. This was her element—a world measured in eight-counts and adrenaline.

She'd warned Soonyoung about the long days ahead, and they'd exchanged quick, understanding messages the night before: good lucks, take cares, a joking promise to share a real meal when the chaos died down. In their own ways, they were both swept up by the demands of their art—Aaliyah on set, Soonyoung chasing his own schedule, both too busy for more than a fleeting thought during the day.

But even as she was absorbed in work, she felt a quiet certainty between them, an assurance built from trust and respect for each other's craft. It was there in the tucked-away texts, the easy silences, the knowledge that the other was cheering from afar. Somehow, the distance made their connection all the more precious—two constellations orbiting in their own bright, hectic spheres, still tracing invisible lines back to each other.

As the day wore on and the set pulsed with energy, Aaliyah moved from scene to scene, her dedication unwavering. There would be time, she knew, to savor the stories later—to share them, laugh about the chaos, and hold close the small victories. For now, the music was calling, and she answered, heart steady in the rhythm of her own making.

The week was packed for Aaliyah. As filming wrapped and the last echoes of applause faded behind her, she made her way home, letting the city's night air cool the adrenaline still buzzing in her veins. Her home greeted her with silence and comfort, a welcome contrast to the relentless whirl of set life. She showered away the day's sweat and dust, letting the steam erase the weight of deadlines and cues, and emerged feeling lighter—restored, if only for a moment.