Old Dreams No Return (Serena) novel Chapter 18

< 18

Menu

18

The UCLA’s annual dance competition always drew a massive crowd. The auditorium was completely packed.

My piece was a contemporary solo called Breaking the Cocoon.

The lights went out, leaving only a stark, cool spotlight on the center of the stage.

Dressed in all black, my body moved with fluid grace, but beneath it was an inner, stubborn defiance as I danced slowly to the music.

The music swelled to its peak, and my movements mirrored its power. I leaped, fell, and rose again, over and over, finally ending with a breathtakingly beautiful yet incredibly difficult backbend freeze.

The stage lights blazed on.

For a split second, the whole auditorium went silent, then erupted in thunderous applause.

Catching my breath slightly, I straightened up and bowed to the audience.

Down in the front row, slightly to the left, Mark was clapping harder than anyone, his eyes gleaming with undisguised admiration.

But in the shadows at the very back of the auditorium, another figure stood quietly alone.

Liam leaned against the cold wall, watching me, dazzling and radiant on stage, from a distance.

He’d seen me dance before. On his birthday, after he won an award, I’d danced joyous steps just for him.

As the applause crashed over me, Liam watched. He saw the confidence and peace shining in my eyes. And he saw Mark in the audience, his gaze fixed on me with blatant, unashamed admiration.

A crushing, belated realization, cold as ice water, doused him.

He suddenly realized with chilling clarity: the girl who once had eyes only for him, who once revolved around his world, he had completely lost her – by his own hand.

This wasn’t some temporary spat, not the kind he could just charm back with a little sweet-talk.

No, this was real. A total, undeniable loss.

He would never stand by her side again.

Never truly have her smile.

A heavy, suffocating despair seized him.

Liam didn’t step forward. Instead, lost in the roar of applause, he quietly turned and slipped out of the auditorium.

The results were no surprise. My piece, ‘Breaking the Cocoon,’ had won the gold medal.

A few days later, a long, slender, meticulously wrapped box arrived for me.

There was no sender’s name, just a small card with a single, typed line: “Congratulations. Breaking the Cocoon was beautiful.

I opened the box. Inside was a vinyl record of the classic ballet Giselle, a special edition that had been out of print for years.

I remembered way back, during some random club chat, I’d just casually mentioned how bummed I was that I couldn’t get my hands on this version, totally gushing about how much I wanted it.

Clutching the surprisingly heavy record, a strange feeling bubbled up in my chest.

Mark was the first person that popped into my head.

Later that night, after the club meeting wrapped up, people started thinning out.

I walked up to Mark, my voice barely a whisper. “Mark, thank you. The record… I really love it.”

Mark looked up, a knowing look in his eyes. “Glad you liked it,” he said. “And seriously; congrats on the win. Totally deserved.”

His gaze was clear and steady, a blend of concern and admiration. And yeah, maybe a tiny hint of something more, something he never quite said. But

22:14

1.5%

Verify captcha to read the contentVerify