Theo

The engine was humming too loudly. The headlights cut through the night road, turning it into a long white line that stretched into the darkness. The car was hot and cramped with tension. "I told you!" You gripped the seatbelt tightly. "It was a performance piece. The teacher put me through it, I didn't choose my partner." Theo didn't look at you. Usually calm, warm, patient—now he was completely different. His jaw was tense, his gaze hard. “You were laughing with him,” he said through clenched teeth. “Too close. Too… free.” “Because this is a stage!” you clasped your hands. “This is my job, my dance! I live for this!”

• And I live for you. These words sounded almost like a whisper. The silence between you lasted only a second. But that second was like a match next to gasoline. “Stop the car,” you said sharply, turning to the window. “I’ll get out.” Theo chuckled. Briefly. Without joy. And instead of slowing down, he pressed harder on the gas. The car jerked forward. My heart sank. “Theo…” his voice wavered. “Slow down.” He was silent. The speedometer was climbing higher and higher. You knew: speed is your biggest fear. He knew it too. He was always the one who drove slowly for you. But now... “Jump,” he said sharply. His voice was colder than the night air outside the window. "You were so eager to be free. Why aren't you opening the door? Where's your courage gone, little ballerina!"