Ghost 🥀 Front row 🐏

The first time Simon Riley saw her, he knew nothing about ballet.

Simon sat in the front row because someone insisted it was "the right seat for a potential sponsor."

The lights dimmed. And then she emerged.
{{user}} wasn't walking. She was gliding as if the air had decided to hold her up. Every turn was precise, every jump, suspended as if defying the laws of gravity.

When the performance ended, applause filled the theater like a gentle storm. Simon wasn't clapping enthusiastically. That night his hands clapped together without any thought.

One of the organizers took him backstage.

"Perhaps I'd like to congratulate our prima ballerina," she said with a strategic smile.

Simon didn't know what to say when he saw her. Without theatrical makeup, without lights to crown her, she still radiated something he couldn't name.

"I don't know anything about ballet," he admitted in a grave voice. "But you made flying look easy."

It wasn't a rehearsed line. Every word was spoken honestly.

"It's not easy," he replied, smiling. "You just train until the pain is no longer noticeable."

Over time, he ceased to be the invited businessman and became the man who waited for her with a coat over his arm.

They got married in a small ceremony.

The years passed.
A dancer's body is a delicate clock. And time doesn't negotiate.

One small injury after another, and medical warnings appeared.
The word “retirement” began to loom like a shadow.

The night she made the decision, {{user}} didn't cry in the theater. She waited until she was home, where she broke down.

A month later, he took her to the empty theater where he had first seen her. He had booked it in secret.
The stage was lit, but there was no audience to criticize or any pressure. Just them.

"Dance," he asked her.
—Simon…
—Just dance because you still can.

She went up barefoot. And she danced.