He shrugged. “I was getting good. Sev was always so supportive, came to my competitions. He and Mom. We kept it from Dad. Not manly enough, you know.”
He couldn’t believe he was telling her this. He hadn’t toldanyone.
“I had no desire to, after Sev died. None. And not just competing—dancing at all. It felt polluted, cheapened.”
Because it had been about more than just some dance classes.
Yes, his mother had suggested them, but Raffi had been too scared of his dad finding out. So she brought in backup.
Raffi took a deep breath and shared with Ani. “It was Sevan who pushed me, who reassured me. Who made it ‘okay,’ even though it was something we were doing without Dad knowing. Sev dragged me to my first lesson, clapped me on the back, and said, ‘You’re going to kill it, trust me.’ And he’d been right.”
Dancing had been the one place Raffi let himself be something other than what their father expected. It was where he felt weightless, where his body moved without thought, where he didn’t have to live inside the rigid, unspoken rules of their family. It was freedom, and his mother, but mostly Sev, had given it to him.
Raffi continued. “But then…Sev was gone. The idea of dancing without hearing his voice cheering from the crowd,without him rushing out to the floor afterward, congratulating me like I’d just won an Olympic medal—it felt wrong.”
Like moving his body that way, trying to reclaim that joy, would be an insult. Like dancing without Sevan to witness it, to validate it, would erase part of what had made it meaningful in the first place.
He couldn’t say it out loud yet, could barely tell himself. But then Ani looked at him with so much support in her eyes, with a quiet understanding, that it nearly undid him. She wasn’t pitying him. She wasn’t rushing to fill the silence. She was just…there. Listening. He felt like this was right, telling her.
Finally, she said, “I can imagine. So when did you start again?”
Raffi paused. A quiet breath, then: “Um. Now.”
Ani stumbled at his words and stepped on Raffi’s foot. He didn’t mind. She barely seemed to notice in her shock. “Wait. You mean to tell me you haven’t danced in—am I getting this right—ten years?”
“Yes.”
“But you’re dancing now. Why?”
Raffi exhaled, feeling the weight of the moment pressing against his ribs. The dance floor was full, the song rolled along in its romance, but in his mind, they were the only two people under the glittering lights of the tent.
Be brave, man, he told himself.
“You.”
The word hung between them, fragile but unshakable. Her eyes locked on his.
Raffi continued, “I felt like if I danced with you, I could do it again.”
She whispered, “Oh, wow.”
“Good ‘Oh, wow’?”
Ani nodded, quick little bobs. “Yes, absolutely. Thank you—thank you for sharing that with me. I feel like this could not have been easy.”
“Honestly, it’s been shockingly easy, dancing with you. Opening up to you.”
Then the smile she gave him. Her eyes so full. “You’re something else, Raffi Garabedian.”
He loved hearing his name out of her pretty, kissable mouth.
“Oh yeah?” he asked, feeling a little nervous. Not wanting to fish for compliments but wanting, very much, to hear her thoughts on him.
“Oh yes. Your kindness, your humor, your generosity. Your rock-hard pecs.”
Now it was his turn to laugh, but really, he was lit up like someone had flipped a switch in him. A thousand watts shining on the marquee of opening night, letting everyone know something new was happening.
“Well, coming from you, that means a lot.”
