54. Chapter 49
Dancing with Ghosts
Bas
Bro!
Bellamy
Bro.
Bas
She’s ignoring me…
Bellamy
Can you blame her?
Bas
No. But it can’t stay like this.
Bellamy
Talking has never been your problem.
Bas
It’s different with her… I’m different with her .
Bellamy
I’d help, but she’s not even talking to Milka.
Bas
I know…
Bellamy
Santa Barbara’s small.
You’ll run into each other sooner or later.
And when you do
you’ll figure it out.
Bas
From your lips to God’s ears.
__________
Evin
E vin stood at the edge of the stage, her slippers brushing against the rough surface designed to give her and the other dancers extra grip.
The vastness of the space swallowed every breath, and the silence between her coach’s commands felt overwhelming.
No mirror to reassure her that her posture was correct, no familiar rhythm to guide her through the routine—just her, the empty auditorium, and the endless stretch of the stage .
Her hands drifted nervously over the light rehearsal dress, the thin fabric clinging to her skin where sweat had already begun to form.
Her thoughts buzzed like a swarm of bees—loud, chaotic, always circling back to the same things.
Bas. The Valentine's Day that never happened. The mess she couldn’t shake, no matter how hard she tried.
“Evin!” Mrs. Wagner’s sharp voice sliced through the air like a blade. Evin flinched, her shoulders jerking upward before she forced herself to stand straight. “You look like a leaf in the wind. Get yourself together, or we’re wasting our time.”
A nod. Barely more than a reflex. Her throat was dry, but no words came.
At the center of the stage stood Rafael—the perfect dancer. His posture was textbook, his gaze calm and unwavering. When he looked at her, there was no impatience in his eyes, only that unshakably professional expression that sometimes irritated her more than it should have.
“Ready?” he asked quietly as she moved into position. His hands hovered near her waist, strong yet precise, every movement deliberate. Evin gave a hesitant nod, though her legs already felt heavy, as if they were made of lead.
The coach gave the signal, and Rafael’s hands closed around her waist. His grip was firm, steady—an anchor. Evin knew what to do. Engage her muscles, hold her body, keep the tension.
But as he lifted her, she got lost.
Not in the moment.
In a memory.
It hit her so suddenly, so viscerally, that she almost felt it in her body.
Bas. His hands—not on her waist, but on her arms, steadying her when she had nearly fallen. His smile, the one that always caught her off guard no matter how hard she tried to ignore it. His breath, warm and close, as he had leaned down to whisper something to her.
The images were so vivid that she forgot where she was.
And she forgot the lift.
Rafael let out a quiet grunt, a strained sound, before lowering her again. The movement wasn’t smooth, wasn’t graceful—it was a sudden, awkward stop that filled t he room like a mistake spoken too loudly.
“Stop!” Her coach’s voice cracked like a whip. “Evin, what was that? Did you forget how to hold yourself? You’re like a sack of potatoes. Again!”
Evin dropped her gaze, her cheeks burning. She felt exposed, laid bare under the watchful eyes of the other dancers. Especially Nele, whose gaze pierced through her with a mix of envy and satisfaction, sharp as needles.
“Come on, let’s try again,” Rafael said, his voice calm, though she could hear the tension beneath it. He was always polite, always composed—but she knew he was frustrated. She was the obstacle keeping him from perfection.
“Yeah,” she whispered, stepping back into position. Her legs felt like rubber, and inside her head, she was fighting—fighting to push the images of Bas away. She couldn’t think about him. Not now. Not here.
But it didn’t help.
As Rafael lifted her again, the thoughts came back.
Bas’s hands—warm, strong—on her waist that one time. His gaze, that flicker of mischief always there, even when he was teasing her. The memory was so clear that she could almost hear his voice.
“Evin, focus!” Rafael’s voice dragged her back to reality, but it was too late.
Her control slipped again. She felt it—the moment her muscles lost tension. Rafael lowered her, this time with less grace. He stepped back, shook his head, exhaled sharply.
“This isn’t working.”
Mrs. Wagner approached, the sound of her heels muffled against the cushioned dance floor. “Evin, I’m tired of repeating myself. If you can’t dance this scene properly, I will find someone who can. Do you understand me?”
A lump formed in Evin’s throat, but she nodded. Silent. Her hands trembled slightly as she stepped away from the center of the stage, retreating into the shadows at the edge. The other dancers threw her looks—some curious, some disdainful. Especially Nele, whose expression was sharp enough to cut.
Bas was paralyz ing her.
He was everywhere. In her thoughts, in her memories, in every movement she made.
And as long as she couldn’t let go of him, she would keep failing.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and pressed her palms against the wall. You can do this. Get it together. It’s just a lift. It’s just a scene.
But the words felt empty, like a mantra that had lost its power.
The hum of voices behind the stage buzzed in the background—muted conversations, the soft scuff of shoes, the dull thud of someone knocking against a prop.
Evin stood with her arms crossed against the wall, her breath slow but heavy.
The failed run-through sat in her stomach like a weight, but she didn’t let it show.
Rafael appeared beside her without warning.
“Nice jump back there,” he remarked dryly, his eyes fixed on the stage.
Evin rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress a small grin. “Appreciate the kind phrasing.”
He shrugged, a flicker of amusement at the corner of his lips. “Just being honest. It was… okay. If you ignore the lifts.”
“Very uplifting.” Evin scoffed softly and straightened up. “I know it was bad. No need to rub it in.”
Rafael leaned casually against the wall, his posture effortless. “You are hard enough on yourself. I don’t need to add to it.” He shot her a sideways glance. “What’s going on, Evin? You seem like you’re not really here.”
Evin flinched at the question, even though Rafael’s tone was casual. She avoided his gaze, staring briefly at her hands as she unconsciously rubbed them together. “I… I don’t know. Maybe I’m overthinking. Or not thinking enough.”
Rafael raised an eyebrow. “I’ve watched you long enough. Normally, you’re pretty… focused.”
Evin shrugged, letting her shoulders drop again. She knew exactly what the problem was.
“Maybe it’s you. Maybe you’re just too good, and I’m trying to keep up.”
Rafael let out a quiet laugh, an easy, effortless sound. “Me? Too good? —Trust me, you’re the last person who should be worrying about that.”
Evin shook her head, a faint smile playing on her lips. “Well… Sometimes it feels like I’m always a step behind. Like I’m… not enough.”
“Evin.” His tone grew more serious, but it wasn’t heavy. “No one here thinks that about you. And even if they did, do you really think it matters? You dance for yourself, not for anyone else.”
She scoffed but couldn’t completely shake off his words. “That’s easy to say. I think I’m too in my head. The fear of not delivering keeps growing every week.”
“I know.” He straightened, his eyes flicking toward the stage. “But you’re good, Evin. Really good. This is just a damn run-through. Tomorrow will be different.” He hesitated briefly, as if choosing his next words carefully. “You know what might help? Getting out. A distraction.”
Evin gave him a skeptical look. “Getting out? We train every other day. When is that supposed to happen?”
Rafael grinned, almost conspiratorial. “This weekend. A friend of mine is throwing a party. Bring a friend if you want. It’ll be good. Music, people, no coach yelling at you.”
“I don’t know,” Evin muttered, making a face. “That sounds like the opposite of what I need right now.”
“Or exactly what you need,” Rafael countered. “Think about it. It’s just a party, not an orgy.”
Evin let out a laugh.
The tense silence between them was interrupted by the dull tapping of pointe shoes on the red carpet.
Evin turned and saw Nele approaching with her usual elegance.
Her tight bun was flawless, not a single strand out of place, and her face was a mask of professional neutrality—except for that ever-present hint of arrogance.
“Oh, how nice,” Nele said with a thin smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I thought we were here to witness perfection, but it seems like we’re still working on the basics.” Her gaze flicked briefly to Rafael before settling on Evin.
Rafael, however, remained unfazed. “It’s a run-through, Nele. No need for dramatics.” His voice was calm, but a small smile tugged at his lips as he glanced at Evin, almost as if encouraging her.
Nele arched an eyebrow, her posture growing even straighter. “Of course,” she said sweetly. “But for a lead role, one would think the basics should already be solid.” Her voice was sharp as a blade, and Evin felt her irritation flare.
“Thanks for the reminder,” Evin said, her tone level but with an unmistakable edge. She took a small step back, widening the space between them. Her hands clenched unconsciously, but she forced herself to stay composed.
“I’m just saying,” Nele continued, as if she hadn’t noticed Evin’s resistance, “if Rafael and I were dancing together, we wouldn’t be having these problems.” Her smile widened, and her eyes gleamed with smug satisfaction.
Rafael sighed and leaned back against the wall. “Nele, can you go five minutes without turning everything into a competition?”
“This isn’t about competition,” Nele replied with feigned innocence. “It’s about the quality of the performance. And I think we all know how important it is for everyone to master their role. Maybe someone else should take on the part. Someone who actually knows how to hold tension.”
Evin’s cheeks burned, but she bit her tongue, stopping herself from throwing out the first sharp remark that came to mind.
She took a slow breath, trying to stay calm, but the words pressed against her lips anyway.
“Oh, and who would that someone be? I think we all know how important it is to focus on your own performance instead of constantly judging others.”
Nele’s eyes narrowed, but before she could respond, Rafael stepped between them.
“Okay, enough. We all have enough to deal with without tearing each other apart.” His gaze flicked between them, sharp but not unkind.
“Nele, you’re not the coach. And Evin, don’t let her get to you. We’re all here to do our best.”
Nele let out a huff, muttering “Unbelievable,” before spinning on her heel and walking o ff with one last disdainful glance.
“She’s impossible,” Evin muttered under her breath, though Rafael offered a small smile. “Ignore her. She knows how good you are, and that’s exactly why she’s being this nasty.”
Evin didn’t say anything, but a small flicker of confidence lit up inside her. Maybe Rafael was right. Maybe Nele’s taunts were nothing more than insecurity disguised as arrogance. But even that thought didn’t completely quell the simmering anger in her chest.
The rest of the rehearsals, the ones where she didn’t have to dance with Rafael, went noticeably better.
Evin poured every ounce of her energy into each turn, each leap, as if with every step, she could shake off a piece of the weight she carried.
It was exhausting, her muscles burned, but the pain was worth it.
This kind of fatigue felt cleansing—it silenced the noise in her head, redirected everything into the dance.
I can do this.
By the time rehearsals ended, her limbs were heavy with exhaustion, but it was a strangely freeing sensation, as if she had let some of her worries melt into the floor of the stage and left them there.
It will be fine…