62. Chapter 57
Halfway Gone
Evin
A faint, electric tingling sensation coursed through her body—sharper, more vivid than simple nerves.
It was that feeling caught between excitement and tension, like the fleeting moment right before a first kiss or the breathless rush of sprinting, unsure if the ground beneath your feet might suddenly disappear.
Evin stretched in front of the mirror, each movement precise but tinged with a subtle tension.
Her body needed to be awake, ready to draw upon everything she’d trained over the past weeks.
She barely noticed that Bas hadn’t been in t ouch—today was supposed to be all about her.
The day she’d bled, sweated, and suffered for.
But a part of her couldn’t help wondering if everything would truly come together as it should.
Would she really own the space that was hers?
Her phone rang.
Milka.
Evin picked it up immediately, tightening the towel around her. “Morning, superstar,” Milka greeted her with a playful tone. “Ready to make history?”
Evin’s lips curved into a faint smile—it felt almost forced. She drew a deep breath before answering. “I’m ready to dance… I think.”
“Good. I’m expecting goosebumps.”
Evin chuckled, a hint of nervousness in her voice. “No pressure at all, huh?”
“None whatsoever. But hey, Evin?”
“Hm?”
“You can be proud of yourself. I know I am.”
Something tightened in Evin’s chest—a mixture of pride and uncertainty—but she pushed the feeling away, forcing her voice to remain steady. “Don’t get sentimental on me now.” Milka laughed softly. “Me? Never.”
They hung up, leaving only the quiet hum of the morning—and the sound of her own heartbeat, caught somewhere between anticipation and doubt.
Evin took one last glance in the mirror. It was time. Even if she wasn’t completely certain yet.
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Sebastia n
S ebastian’s eyes were fixed on the flickering departures board at the airport, tracking every update with a mix of anticipation and unease. One more hour until boarding, and the digital numbers seemed to race forward, while everything in his mind felt slow and heavy.
He knew he should have sent her a message by now. Something simple, like: On my way. Or something like that.
But the knot tightening in his stomach wasn’t about the message.
It was about everything he’d been keeping from her.
He hadn’t said a word about his father’s plans for the summer, because he didn’t know how to tell her.
And because deep down, he knew she needed to focus. This was her moment, not his mess.
And then there was the other thing—the fight.
That moment when he’d let it all out, all the pent-up frustration.
A part of him knew he shouldn’t have stepped in, that it had been reckless.
But that was so like him, diving headfirst into things without thinking and ending up with bloody knuckles to show for it.
He leaned back in the uncomfortable chair, rubbing his face with both hands, feeling the sting of the rough cut on his brow. His fingers grazed the aching bruise under his eye, a reminder of his impulsive choices. She would notice for sure and ask, with that look of hers that demanded answers.
And what would he say?
He’d brush it off. Not because he wanted to hide the truth, but because today was her day. That was the only thing that really mattered.
He tapped out a quick message on his phone, his fingers moving with a calmness that didn’t match the turmoil inside him:
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Evi n
Bas
On my way. Can’t wait to see you. ??
H er heart gave the tiniest, barely noticeable leap.
Bas. Her Bas.
Tall, broad-shouldered, carrying that natural air of superiority and an intensity you couldn’t ignore.
His gaze could disarm her—sometimes playful, sometimes challenging.
He knew exactly how to get under her skin, how to drive her crazy with just one word or a raised brow.
But then there were those other moments.
The quiet ones. When he looked at her like she was the only thing in the room.
Though a shiver ran through her, a small doubt lingered in the back of her mind. Why had he been so quiet since yesterday? And now, just a short text—a casual-sounding message that meant so much she wasn’t sure it meant anything at all.
She bit her lip, feeling her stomach tighten for the briefest second before she pushed the thought aside. Not now. She didn’t have time to get lost in him, in everything that was between them.
She read the message one more time, as if it could bring her a spark of his presence, then set the phone down without responding.
Not now.
Today belongs to me.
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Sebastia n
T he door closed behind him with a soft, echoing thud, the sound resonating through the stillness of the house.
For a moment, Bas just stood there, wrapped in the deep, all-encompassing silence that felt like a heavy blanket pressing down on him.
The flight had dragged on, leaving his muscles stiff and aching.
He ran tired hands over his face, feeling the rough texture of his palms. The sensation was almost comforting, pulling him out of his thoughts for a fleeting second.
With a single practiced motion, he pulled his hoodie over his head.
The fabric brushed against his skin before he tossed it onto the chair by the door, where it crumpled into a haphazard pile.
His gaze drifted to the mirror across the room, catching his own reflection—dark, shadowy rings under his eyes, one of them made worse by the fresh, purple bruise spreading across his cheek.
“Fuck, I still look like shit,” he muttered under his breath.
It looked even worse than it had in the morning.
He took a deep breath, filling his lungs as if trying to sort through the tangled mess of thoughts.
Stretching his stiff muscles, he felt the tension in his shoulders before heading to the bathroom.
Warm water streamed down his neck, easing the knots in his shoulders somewhat, though it did nothing for the heavy weight in his chest—that unshakable, unwelcome burden he couldn’t seem to let go of.
Back in his room, his eyes immediately went to the clock.
Not much time left. His outfit lay neatly spread out on the bed, carefully chosen the day before.
The dark, finely textured shirt felt smooth under his fingers.
The perfectly tailored gray jacket and matching wide-leg trousers exuded effortless style.
He slipped on the trousers, fastened the belt, and buttoned the shirt halfway, leaving the top two buttons undone so the fabric fell loosely across his chest. His gaze flicked to the mirror, and his reflection met his critical stare head-on.
His hands moved to the accessories on the dresser—a simple gold chain, a ring with a dark stone, and a slim gold bracelet he’d worn for months.
Finally, he reached for the jacket, running a last glance over himself to make sure every thing was in place, that everything looked exactly as it should.
And if her eyes scanned the crowd after the performance, he wanted them to land on him.
He grabbed his keys, picked up his phone.
Then he left the house.
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Evin
B ackstage, the air was charged with expectation.
Her chest thrummed with nervous energy, matching the rhythm of the buzzing stage lights, the soft rustle of costumes around her, and the muted whispers of the other dancers.
Through the thick stage curtain, she could hear the audience—a sea of voices, tense, muffled, waiting.
In just a moment, the house lights would dim. In just a moment, it would all begin.
She closed her eyes, trying to steady her thoughts. It didn’t work. There was something tightening her chest, something that had nothing to do with stage fright.
This felt different. Bigger. Final.
Like taking one last deep breath before plunging into cold water.
All these years, she’d danced. With discipline, with iron control, with a passion she sometimes couldn’t even explain.
But she had always danced with purpose. For structure.
For that feeling of having something that was hers, something no one could take away.
But now, here, with the spotlight about to fall on her, with the knowledge that so many eyes would be watching—now, it was more than that.
Evin stood in the wings, her heart beating like a drum in her chest.
The murmurs of the audience faded to silence as the house lights dimmed, filling the space with a charged stillness. It was almost tangible, a crackling anticipation in the air that coursed through every fiber of her being. A raw energy pulsed in her veins, ready to burst forth.
As the music began, she stepped into the spotlight, her body taut, prepared to pour all her training, all her emotions, the pain of the past months, onto the stage.
The familiar strains of Minkus’ La Bayadère flowed through her, guiding her like an invisible force.
Her costume floated around her, light as a bird’s wings, as she transformed—into the temple dancer, a figure from another world, weightless and suspended beyond space and time.
Every breath, every step, every movement was infused with precision.
Her arms swept like water through the air, each arc painting a picture that existed only for a moment before dissolving into nothingness.
With every turn, every leap, she defied gravity, hanging suspended for fleeting seconds before touching down with featherlight grace.
But it wasn’t until the pas de deux with Rafael that she felt truly alive. Their bodies moved in perfect harmony, the trust between them palpable in every lift, every turn. In those moments, there was no fear, no doubt—only the freedom to surrender completely to the music.