Our Last Dance

Layla was... particular.

Not in a way people could easily define, but in the way she carried herself, in the way she moved through life like everything had already been thought through, decided, placed exactly where it needed to be.

She wasn't overly optimistic, not the kind that believed everything would magically work out. Hers was quieter than that. Sharper. The kind that came from knowing she had already planned for every possible outcome.

Nothing in her life was accidental.

Everything had a place.

Everything made sense.

She had a routine she never broke, a life that never surprised her, and a world that stayed exactly the way she expected it to.

Until it didn't.

Until someone walked into the classroom like rules didn't apply to him.

Or maybe he didn't walk. Maybe he just... existed loudly enough to be impossible to ignore.

Either way, everything shifted.

Because after him, things stopped making sense.

Her nights were no longer quiet. They were filled with dreams that didn't feel like dreams. They felt vivid. Lingering. Like something just out of reach.

Like something she should remember.

Like something that belonged to her.

And that was the problem.

Because Layla didn't forget things.

This wasn't supposed to happen.

And when the truth began to surface, it didn't come with clarity. It came in fragments. In moments that felt misplaced. In pieces of a past that didn't align with the life she knew she had lived.

That was when she understood.

There had been a before him.

There was a during him.

And somehow...

There would be an after him.

She just never thought she would have to live it.