Old Dreams No Return (Serena) novel Chapter 12

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12

My dance classes were way more demanding than I’d thought.

Every morning, my classmates and I were already in the Dance Studio, doing our stretches and going through the same old boring but essential foundational training.

My practice clothes were often drenched in sweat, and afternoons were just endless combo rehearsals.

I was physically drained, but my mind found a strange, satisfying calm.

It was like all those nagging, painful memories I usually tried to avoid were finally kept at bay.

My roommates were great.

They’d hit up the bustling cafeteria as a group, huddle up for whispered gossip after lights out. And if they saw me zoning out by the window, they’d get it. They’d just quietly leave a warm milk tea on my desk without a word.

That perfect mix of companionship and personal space made me feel so comfortable and genuinely grateful.

The Dance Crew met twice a week.

Mark, being the crew’s president, was almost always there.

He wasn’t even an art student; he was a junior in Computer Science, buried under a crazy heavy course load. Whenever he showed up at the dance studio, he usually had that black laptop bag slung over his shoulder, looking like he’d just rushed over from the lab or the library.

He just had this maturity about him, a thoughtfulness and tact that was way beyond his years.

He’d arrange the venue in advance, check the sound system, and even get disposable cups for members who forgot their water bottles. During breaks, he’d casually drop interesting campus gossip or useful info.

“Next semester, for general education courses? Professor Lee for ‘Western Art History’ has a great rep, grades fair, and it’s not too hard to snag a spot.”

“Window seats in section A of the library? Most outlets there. Perfect if you need your laptop for a long time.”

“The local cafe just right off the south gate? Their double-skin milk pudding is legit. Just gets really crowded on weekends.”

He always shared this info offhand, and his help was always just right. Never overly pushy or familiar, and he never pried about my past or personal

life.

After one club activity, it suddenly started pouring outside.

I was about to use my jacket as a makeshift umbrella and dash back to the dorm when a black, long-handled umbrella silently appeared in front of me.

It was Mark.

He shook the other foldable umbrella in his hand. “I brought two.

You take this bigger one. It’s pouring, and a small one won’t keep you dry.”

I paused, my first instinct was to make an excuse.

“I’m heading to the library anyway, it’s totally on my way.”

He seemed to see right through my hesitation, quickly offering a reason I couldn’t say no to, one that wouldn’t make me feel weird about it. “Just give it back to me tomorrow at the club activity,” he said.

“…Thanks, senior.”

I took the umbrella; it was still slightly warm.

“No problem,” he replied.

Mark smiled, opened his own umbrella, and stepped into the pouring rain.

I held up the sturdy, long-handled umbrella and walked back to my dorm, the rain pounding against the canopy.

It was a long-lost sense of ease, like the cool, fresh air after the rain, wrapping around me.

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