43. Chapter 38
Balancing Act
Evin
F inally, Evin stood in the large ballet studio, facing the mirrored wall.
Her gaze fell on her thin tights and the snug training leotard.
The room was brightly lit, the polished wooden floors reflecting the light like a stage.
Two months until the big performance. Two months to prove that she still had what it took—or maybe, to prove that she was more than the sum of all the things she tried to suppress.
The other dancers slowly gathered, their familiar murmurs and giggles filling the space. Nele, as always, held herself in perfect posture, her hair pulled into a tight bun, her face expressionless. But her eyes betrayed the critical way she examined Evin.
"You look different," Nele finally remarked, a hint of reluctant acknowledgment in her voice. Evin didn't respond. She knew how much she had changed. The weight she had lost over the past months was obvious, and she had already heard the comments—some admiring, some envious.
Evi n shrugged, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "A lot of training," she muttered, feeling the stares lingering on her. Nele rolled her eyes, turned to her friend, and whispered something Evin couldn’t hear. But the laughter that followed made her neck burn.
"Quiet, ladies," came their teacher’s calm yet firm voice. "We begin with warm-ups."
The routine was familiar, almost meditative.
Evin rotated her legs, held onto the barre, stretched her back.
But there was a tremor in her limbs, a lightness that didn’t feel healthy.
The familiar movements grounded her, and she tried to ignore the unease gnawing at her from within.
Dance was her anchor, her refuge—the only thing holding her together.
When the music for the main routine began, Evin was ready.
She had gone through this dance in her head countless times, internalizing every movement, feeling every turn in her bones.
The steps came effortlessly, her arms flowed like waves through the air, her legs moved with precision and strength.
She felt the tension in the room, the gazes of her classmates—some envious, some admiring.
With every jump, every arabesque, she felt free.
Free from the memories that tormented her, from the weight in her chest that so often threatened to suffocate her.
But then came the pirouette. As she spun, the ground blurred beneath her.
The room twisted, a wave of dizziness overtook her, but she forced herself to complete the turn.
Her legs wobbled slightly before she steadied herself.
It wasn’t perfect, but she had made it through.
The music stopped, and for a moment, there was silence in the room.
Then, her teacher clapped slowly. "Well done, Evin.
But the pirouette—more control. Elegance is just as important as technique.
" Some of the girls exchanged glances, and Evin caught the way Nele’s lips curled into a smirk.
But she ignored it, took a deep breath, and nodded.
"Yes, ma’am," she said, suppressing her frustration.
After class, as the other dancers left the studio, Evin remained behind. The teacher approached her, her posture relaxed, but her eyes serious. "Evin," she began, "you’ve made impressive progress these past weeks. Your technique is cleaner, your expression more powerful. But I’m concerned."
Evi n looked up, her hands tensing. "Why?" she asked softly.
The teacher sat on the bench, her gaze fixed on Evin with a mix of sternness and concern.
"Your body is your instrument. And I see how hard you work, but I also see that you’ve lost too much weight.
It’s dangerous, Evin. You need energy to dance, to reach your full potential.
I don’t know what’s driving you, but you can’t destroy yourself.
" She paused for a moment and placed a gentle hand on Evin’s shoulder.
"Am I the reason? Have I put too much pressure on you?
" Her voice was filled with sincere worry.
Evin felt her throat tighten. The gentle touch of her teacher triggered a moment of vulnerability.
She wanted to say something, but the words felt stuck in her throat.
Her teacher’s words echoed inside her, breaking through the walls she had so carefully built.
"I’m fine," she whispered finally, her voice barely audible.
The teacher sighed, her hand lingering a moment longer. "I’m proud of you, Evin. You’re a strong dancer, and I see how much you push yourself. But potential means nothing if you burn yourself out. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself."
Evin nodded slowly, forcing a weak smile. "I promise."
Her teacher held her gaze for a moment longer, then nodded and stepped back. "Good. You can go."
As Evin left the studio, her thoughts were a tangled mess. Her teacher’s words weighed heavily on her, but she knew she needed dance. It wasn’t just her refuge—it was her salvation. Even if, sometimes, it destroyed her more than she was willing to admit.
__________
Evin lay on her bed, half-sunken into her pillow, staring at her phone.
The soft music playing from her speaker was barely more than a whisper, an attempt to drown out the uncomfortable silence in the room.
After a moment of hesitation, she took a deep breath and pressed the green button.
It only took a few seconds before Milka’s familiar voice came through.
"Hey, Ev! What’s up?" The faint crackling in the background told Evin that M ilka was busy with something.
"Yeah, nothing much," Evin answered, but her voice betrayed her. "Am I bothering you? I just wanted to talk for a bit."
"Of course not," Milka replied immediately. "Go ahead."
Evin rolled onto her back, eyes fixed on the ceiling as she searched for the right words. "I was thinking… about keeping things smooth between Ben and Bas. I know they’ve been better lately, but it still feels… tense sometimes."
A skeptical sound came from the other end. "Wow, a diplomatic mission. Do you really think you can get those two to sit at the same table without one of them throwing a grenade?"
Evin smirked slightly. "Maybe. It’s worth a try. It would make things easier for everyone—for you, for me, for… well, everyone."
There was a short pause. "Hm, and how do you plan to do that?"
Evin answered directly, "I was thinking about the Valentine’s event." The idea seemed so unrealistic that she let out a small laugh.
Milka giggled too, but there was a hint of doubt in her voice. "A charity event as the stage for reconciliation? Ha! That sounds a bit too poetic, don’t you think? And what if it backfires?"
"Then at least I tried," Evin replied with a small shrug, even though Milka couldn’t see it. "It would be nice if things were… less tense."
Milka sighed theatrically. "Alright, I’ll help you. But hey, you sound a little… drained. Everything okay?"
Evin bit her lip. "Yeah, I’m fine. Training was just exhausting. The performance is in two months, so everything has to be perfect."
Milka made a thoughtful noise. "Stressful, huh?"
"It’s going well," Evin answered evasively. "But today… today was a bit weird. I had a brief dizzy spell during the pirouettes. Nothing major, but my teacher told me to take better care of myself."
A pause. Then Milka’s voice came, quiet, hesitant: "And? Are you going to?"
"Of course," Evin said quickly. "I was just tired. Or didn’t eat enough. It’s really nothing to worry about."
Mil ka was silent for a moment, then laughed lightly, trying to break the tension. "Alright, but if you pass out, I swear I’ll kick your ass, got it?"
Evin grinned. "Aye aye, Captain."
"Good." Milka’s tone was relieved, but still laced with skepticism. "Back to your brilliant plan. Think the guys will go for it?"
Evin raised an eyebrow. "Ben? Maybe. But Ben and Bas? Those two? That’s tough."
Milka chuckled. "Tough is an understatement. Bas thrives on drama, and Ben… well, at least he’s become slightly less unbearable."
"Yeah," Evin murmured. "Bas would try. I hope. Maybe it’ll work. But Ben… he always thinks he needs to protect me. That just complicates everything."
"Ben’s a good guy," Milka said. "But sometimes he forgets that you can handle yourself. Maybe you should remind him of that."
Evin laughed softly. "Maybe. But someone has to make the first move, right?"
"Typical you," Milka said with a smirk in her voice. "But remember—if this all blows up in your face, I’ll be the first one to say, ‘I told you so.’"
"Deal." Evin smiled. "Thanks for always having my back."
"Always," Milka replied, her voice carrying a rare hint of seriousness. "But for now, you should sleep. You sound exhausted."
"I will," Evin said, closing her eyes. "Good night, Milka."
"Good night, Ev—oh, wait!" Milka let out a dramatic sigh. "By the way, Ev, your birthday’s coming up soon. Should we plan something small? Nothing big, I promise."
She glanced at the calendar on the wall—January was almost over. Just a few more days until her birthday.
Evin shook her head, even though Milka couldn't see it. "Mil, honestly, I really don’t feel like doing anything this year. At all."
"Oh, come on," Milka pressed gently. "Just us, Bell, Bas… maybe some food and Netflix?"
"Not this year, Mil," Evin said quietly but firmly. "Please, I don’t want to do anything. No party, no pizza nights, no surprises."
Mil ka hesitated briefly before giving in. "Alright. No birthday, no drama. But if you change your mind—"
"I won't," Evin interrupted firmly. "But thanks for understanding."
"Of course," Milka said gently. "Your birthday, your rules."
There weren't going to be any grand celebrations this year. In fact, there would be no celebration at all.
No lavish party, no intimate dinner, and no cake.
Evin had made her wishes clear from the beginning.
Milka had tried to persuade her otherwise, as had her mom.
Even Bas had offered to organize something—perhaps bring a gift or plan an activity.
But Evin had firmly declined all of it. No party, no presents—nothing this year.
And, for a change, everyone respected her decision.
She appreciated that.
The idea of turning seventeen felt more burdensome than she had anticipated, like a milestone she preferred to ignore.
Nearly a month into the new year, and she still felt stuck, as if she hadn't progressed at all.
Perhaps that's precisely why she didn't want the fanfare of candles, smiles, and probing questions.
This year, the quiet felt like a blessing.
For the first time in a while, she was content with that. Maybe even relieved.