DanceDance in Short Stories More Like This
It's her eighteenth birthday.
Her hair is pulled up, but a few curls still hang in front of her face.
She sits alone at the table as people dance around her, enjoying cake and bidding her "happy birthday".
She smiles from ear to ear, sipping on her glass of sparkling water, raspberries sinking to the bottom.
He watches her, smiling along with her from across the room, his own drink in hand.
Their eyes meet.
He smiles wider. She laughs.
She waves. He walks over.
"Dance?" he asks softly, barely audible over the loud music. But she's watching his lips.
She stands, grabbing his hand and guiding him to the center of the room.