I have just enough time in my car alone to realize that Cassius never called me today, he never even sent a text.I never sent him one either, but we spoke so late, well early, this morning, that I was exhausted when I got to work and then I spent nearly all day with Victoria.I didn't text him, but I thought about him plenty.
Any time I turned a page, or took a breath, his voice was there.A voice that I want to say belongs to the man from the store, but in all honesty the store thing happened so fast and I was flustered, so are they the same voice or do I just want them to be?
The drive is a short one, and soon we’re pulling up to a place with a single word lit up above its door,Mirage.
I step intoMirageafter Victoria and the transition is like tumbling into another world.The air is thick with anticipation, a complete contrast to the sterile office spaces I'm used to.I'm instantly enveloped by a dimly lit sanctuary, where lights play tricks with shadows, casting an intimate glow over velvet booths and shimmering curtains.The walls, cloaked in deep reds and golds, pulse softly with the rhythm of exotic, sultry music that winds its way through the crowd, almost like a tangible presence brushing against my skin.
The charged atmosphere of the room, exhilarating for some, sends a wave of apprehension through me.My already on edge nerves are on the verge of exploding with this new rush of unfamiliar tension.Instinctively, I reach into my purse for the paperback I bought because he said it was his favorite.The weight of it in my palm steadies me; the promise of those pages is a small, private refuge, a reminder of my own safe haven amid the chaos.
I follow Victoria through the crowd and a part of me is irresistibly drawn to the spectacle.My gaze is drawn to the stage.The dancers are embodiments of grace, confidence, and a type of storytelling that speaks without words.I’ve never been anywhere like this, in fact I could count on one hand how many times I’ve ever set foot in a bar.I stop walking, frozen in place only to realize that I’m no longer anxious.
I’m in love.
Every movement the dancers make is like a new page of a fabulous book.They aren’t just performers, they're artists, each movement a deliberate stroke of expression, painting emotions and narratives in the air.
Their costumes glitter under the spotlight, adding layers of meaning and allure.The sequins catch the light, sending sparkles scattering across the room, while feathers sway with elegance, emphasizing the fluidity of their movements.It's a spectacle of color and light, dazzling and mesmerizing.
Each step the dancer’s take, shows their strength and control, which I assume is the result of countless hours of dedication and practice.Their movements are pure power, but there’s a vulnerability present too, a dance that teeters on the edge of revealing and concealing, inviting the audience to look closer, to understand the depth of the stories being told.
Absolutely in love.
I long to view the world through this new lens—a perspective where grace coexists with strength, and beauty is defined in a myriad of unexpected ways.
A woman in crimson passes in front of the stage and for a second I see her twice.The dancer in the present and the outline of a woman in a 1950s showgirl costume layered over her, grinning at an audience who isn’t here anymore.The ghost lifts her chin at me and then she’s gone.
I’ve always been the outsider.My parents and brother aren’t even an exception.I’m loved but a little left of center.For as long as I can remember, I found belonging in the pages of my books.
Books are my comfort, but this?
This is my empowerment.This is the opposite of hiding.It radiates from the stage, from these performers, with their unabashed confidence and joy in their art.These women own every inch of their bodies and the air around them.It screams a kind of permission I’ve never given myself.For the first time I see strength in vulnerability and it makes me courageous.An adjective I never would’ve used to describe myself.
The ghosts don’t hover tonight.Instead, they keep to the edges of my vision, blurry and fleeting, as if they’re clearing a path on purpose.It reads like encouragement:Be the girl who takes up space.For once, I’m almost alone.
Mila used to tug me toward rooms like this and whisper, “Be brave.I’ll stand in front.”She’d take the first look so I could take the second.When I lost her, I lost the borrowed sparks of nerve that came with her.Being here now, the sparks return on their own.Maybe bravery isn’t the absence of fear; maybe it’s deciding to be seen anyway—seen without any protection.No Mila.No ghosts.No streetlight man stealing all my air.Not even Cassius.Tonight I’ll try oncourageous.
There’s a tug on my hand.Victoria.She must’ve come back for me when she realized I wasn’t following.She tugs me through the crowd and we find our seats.I clutch my book a little less tightly and watch in awe as this unexpected magic plays out before me.
We order our drinks.I go for aPaper Plane, a mix of bourbon, Aperol, Amaro, and lemon juice, seeking comfort in its complexity, while Victoria chooses aGin Fizz, light and effervescent, mirroring her easy laughter.I line the napkin’s edge with the table and wipe a ring of condensation until the circle is perfect.
We’re chatting less than five minutes before two men approach our table.With an easy grin and a too-familiar lean, they ask to join us.I don’t hear their names, my focus is on the dancers.Victoria, apparently ever the social butterfly, welcomes them with a nod, and they pull up chairs.I try to engage, smiling at their jokes, but my mind is elsewhere, tangled in thoughts of Cassius and my quiet phone where his messages should be.
The one sitting closest to me keeps finding reasons to brush against the back of my hand with his own.
“What are you drinking?”He nods to my empty glass.His fingertips graze my thigh and I coil away a hair, fighting the urge to move my chair.
Why hasn't Cassius called or texted all day?
I glance aroundMirage, its dimly lit corners and the glow of the stage lights casting long shadows.Amid the laughter and the clinking of glasses, I can't shake the feeling that Cassius is here, watching.It's a sense beyond logic, a whisper in the crowd that speaks his name.
I'm about to dismiss the thought as fantasy when my phone pings with a message that sends a chill through my bones.
Cassius:
You look happy tonight.
Ice slides through my body.Then heat.I look up, expecting to see him in a corner, smoke and shadow.There’s only crowd and light and the suggestion of a shape that might be him if I believed in my own instincts enough to trust them.
Another ping.
