CHAPTER 12: UNSCRIPTED
1364 Words
(Olumide POV)
I didn’t come to the park for anyone.
I came because the house felt too tight.
My father’s voice still lingered in the walls even when he wasn’t speaking. Expectations have a way of echoing. They don’t need sound to be loud.
So I left.
Camera hanging from my neck.
Cap low.
Mask in place.
Anonymous.
The late afternoon sun stretched lazily over everything — turning ordinary things cinematic.
I like moments before they know they’re being watched.
That’s what photography is.
Catching something honest before it performs.
I stopped near a cluster of trees where the light filtered through leaves in fractured gold patterns. Click.
A child chasing pigeons. Click.
An elderly man feeding squirrels, hands trembling but steady in intention. Click.
A couple arguing quietly on a bench, their hands still intertwined despite the tension. Click.
Life is interesting when it forgets you’re there.
I adjusted my lens.
Zoomed in on the fountain — water catching sunlight, breaking it into shards.
Click.
Breath slow.
For once, no timetable.
No textbooks.
No one asking what I plan to become.
Just air.
Then—
Movement.
Not chaotic.
Not loud.
But magnetic.
Across the open grass, near a graffiti-stained wall, someone was stretching.
Slowly.
Controlled.
Intentional.
I lowered the camera slightly.
Dawn.
I recognized the posture before I recognized her face.
She was alone.
No audience. No hype. No friends filming.
Just her and her body moving through space like it belonged there.
She rolled her shoulders back, neck tilting side to side, braids falling forward then back again.
The sunlight traced the curve of her arms.
She stepped into footwork — light, exploratory, not full-out. Testing the ground.
She hadn’t seen me.
Good.
There’s something different about people when they think no one is watching.
They’re softer.
More real.
I lifted the camera again.
Hesitated.
Then lowered it.
Some things shouldn’t be captured without permission.
She moved into a slow body wave — not exaggerated, not performative — just feeling the rhythm in her headphones. I could see the faint pulse in her shoulders, the subtle bounce in her knees.
She wasn’t dancing for attention.
She was listening.
That’s what pulled me closer.
Not close enough to interrupt.
Just enough to hear faint bass leaking from her headphones when the wind shifted.
I pretended to photograph the trees again.
Adjusted my lens.
But my focus kept shifting back.
She spun suddenly — a quick pivot — and her eyes landed on me.
Pause.
Not embarrassed.
Not startled.
Just curious.
She pulled one side of her headphones off.
“You taking pictures of me or the leaves?” she called out.
Her voice carried easily.
I lowered the camera.
“The leaves.”
She squinted playfully. “Liar.”
I shrugged slightly.
She studied me for a second.
Cap. Mask. Hoodie.
“Why are you dressed like a witness protection case?” she asked.
“Why are you dancing alone?” I countered.
A slow grin spread across her face.
“Touché.”
There was no tension in it.
Just awareness.
She walked closer — not rushing — each step deliberate, confident in her own gravity.
Up close, I could see a faint sheen of sweat at her temples.
She looked alive.
“Photographer now?” she asked, nodding toward the camera.
“Sometimes.”
“Show me.”
I hesitated.
Then flipped the screen toward her.
She leaned closer to look.
Close enough that I could feel warmth through fabric.
Her shoulder brushed my arm lightly as she scrolled.
“That’s nice,” she murmured. “You see small things.”
I didn’t answer.
She glanced up at me instead.
“You always hiding?”
“Depends who’s looking.”
She held my gaze for half a second longer than necessary.
Then—
Music erupted from the other side of the park.
Loud.
Layered bass vibrating through concrete.
A circle forming near the fountain.
Crowd energy rising.
She turned instinctively toward the sound.
“Oh,” she breathed softly.
Her entire posture shifted.
Not casual anymore.
Alert.
Interested.
Hungry for it.
The thrill.
I followed her gaze.
Two duos stepping into the open space.
The crowd tightening.
Phones lifting.
Dawn’s fingers twitched slightly at her sides.
I noticed.
“You going?” I asked quietly.
She didn’t answer immediately.
Her eyes stayed fixed on the forming circle.
A slow smile curved her lips.
“Maybe,” she said.
And the air changed.
The music hit the crowd like a sudden storm.
Two duos stepped forward, circling each other, eyes locked, energy crackling.
The first pair moved like synchronized bullets — sharp, calculated, their footwork chopping the air. One dropped low, knees brushing the concrete, spinning into a backflip that seemed effortless. His partner mirrored him almost perfectly, arms slicing upward, chest popping to the beat. The crowd gasped, then cheered.
The second duo was different. Fluid. Smooth. Each movement a conversation with the music. Waves traveled through their bodies, hips rolling, chest isolations flowing, fingers tracing imaginary paths in the air. Their connection wasn’t just coordination—it was instinct. Every glance, every subtle tilt, mirrored the other. It felt almost intimate, almost dangerous.
I felt Dawn’s excitement before I saw her twitching fingers or the way her shoulders squared. She was drawn in, eyes bright, body ready to jump in before the beat even asked.
The first duo ended with a sharp knee drop, then froze back-to-back. The crowd erupted. The second duo answered with a synchronized spin and chest pop that slid seamlessly into a slow, controlled wave across their spines.
And then silence.
The crowd couldn’t breathe. Even I didn’t.
Dawn turned to me, eyes sparkling like she’d just been dared to jump into fire. “We can do that,” she whispered.
Her grin wasn’t teasing. It was a declaration.
Before I could reply, she strode into the circle. Her feet hit the ground, precise, deliberate. Her body flowed with the beat in a way that felt uncontainable—controlled, yet wild. Shoulder rolls, hips tracing invisible circles, her ponytail swinging with hypnotic rhythm. Every motion felt intentional, sensual without being crude, commanding attention without demanding it.
I followed instinctively, stepping into her rhythm. My hood low, mask hiding half my face, but my body answering hers. Every shift, every step, every tilt — we matched. Back-to-back spins, synchronized pops, subtle waves. I didn’t need to see her face to feel her intent.
Her laughter broke through my concentration once — soft, breathless, teasing. I caught her eye mid-spin, and she winked.
The music shifted. Faster now. Sharper. The second beat in the bassline made my chest thrum. I mirrored her movements: heel taps, smooth glides, low slides. She arched into spins and rolls that made the crowd gasp again, and I was caught up in the flow — her body moving like fire, mine answering with the precision of practice.
She dropped low, nearly grazing the ground, rolled upward slowly, vertabra by vertabra, eyes locked on mine. The air thickened. Energy hummed. Sweat trickled under my cap.
We ended together — synchronized spin, back-to-back stance, arms lifted high, music cutting abruptly. Silence again. Then chaos. The crowd erupted. Whistles, cheers, applause.
Dawn laughed, catching her breath. “See? Told you.”
I lowered my mask slightly, exhaling hard, heart still pounding. “That… was insane.”
She turned to me, grin wide. “You survived. I knew you would.”
And just like that, something shifted.
Not yet a bond. Not yet trust. But a rhythm between us. Electric. Unspoken. Unavoidable.
The unbeatable duo stepped forward, clapping us on the shoulder. “Respect,” one said.
Dawn smirked, handing me a cold drink she’d grabbed from a vendor. “To new partners,” she said.
And as the sun dipped lower, spilling orange and pink across the park, I realized… hiding was no longer my first instinct. Not when music and movement could pull me into the world, and not when she made me feel it was safe to answer.
Cap. Mask. Sweat. Music. Dawn beside me.
For the first time in months, I felt like myself.
- Writer
