CHAPTER 10: OFF BEAT
926 Words
(Olumide POV)
I did not expect to come back.
That was the plan.
Go once. Survive. Leave with dignity.
But dignity is overrated when your mind won’t stop replaying the way someone moves like music lives inside their bones.
So here I was. Again. Outside the dance studio. Again.
Only this time, I didn’t pretend I was passing by.
I stood there.
Waiting.
The bass from inside thudded through the walls, crawling into my chest like it had permission. My fingers twitched unconsciously, tapping against my thigh in rhythm. I hated that my body responded before my brain did.
The door swung open before I could overthink it.
And there she was.
Dawn.
Hair pulled into a high ponytail. No makeup this time. Just sweat at her temples and focus in her eyes. She looked… real. Less untouchable. More dangerous.
“You’re early,” she said, crossing her arms.
“I like punctuality,” I replied.
She raised a brow. “You were ten minutes late yesterday.”
I cleared my throat. “Growth.”
She laughed — soft, almost surprised — then stepped aside.
“Come in, Mr. Growth.”
The studio was emptier today. Just her. No crowd. No whispers. No audience.
My stomach flipped.
“You practicing alone?” I asked.
“Competition’s in three weeks,” she said, walking to the mirror. “If I don’t perfect this, I don’t deserve to lead.”
That word lingered.
Lead.
I watched her stretch — fluid, deliberate. Every movement intentional. She didn’t dance like someone trying to impress people.
She danced like someone trying to survive something.
“Why do you really want to join?” she asked suddenly, eyes still on her reflection.
The question hit harder than expected.
I shrugged. “I like music.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Her gaze shifted to mine through the mirror.
Sharp.
Uncomfortable.
Honest.
I exhaled slowly.
“At home,” I started, surprising even myself, “everything is grades. Rankings. Future plans I didn’t apply for.”
She didn’t interrupt.
“When I’m here…” I hesitated. “It’s quiet. In my head.”
The room went still.
Even the air felt like it was listening.
Dawn turned around fully now.
“That bad?” she asked, softer.
I almost laughed. “You ever feel like you’re living someone else’s ambition?”
Her jaw tightened slightly.
Bingo.
She looked away first.
“Music doesn’t fix everything,” she said.
“I know.”
“But it makes it tolerable.”
“I know.”
Silence again.
But this one felt different.
Not awkward.
Shared.
She walked toward the speaker and pressed play.
The music started slow this time. Not aggressive. Not loud.
Controlled.
“Show me what you’ve got,” she said.
I blinked. “Excuse me?”
“You came back. That means you’re serious. So show me.”
No hiding behind the group.
No copying from the back.
Just me.
And her.
I swallowed and stepped forward.
The first few counts were rough. My timing slightly off. My turns too stiff.
But I didn’t stop.
I let the rhythm take over. Let my shoulders loosen. Let my feet move without asking permission.
By the second repetition, something shifted.
I stopped thinking.
And started feeling.
When the music cut off, I was breathing harder than I expected.
Dawn was staring.
Not amused.
Not teasing.
Studying.
“You’ve danced before,” she said quietly.
I shook my head. “Not officially.”
“Don’t lie.”
“I’m not.”
She walked closer.
Too close.
“You don’t move like someone new.”
My pulse betrayed me.
“I just watch a lot.”
She tilted her head.
“You’re hiding something.”
A small smile tugged at my lips.
“Everyone is.”
For a second — just a second — something unreadable passed between us.
Then the door creaked open.
Two girls stepped in, eyes immediately locking onto me.
“Oh,” one of them said slowly. “We have company.”
The temperature changed instantly.
Dawn stepped back.
Leader mask back on.
“Yes. He’s joining.”
The girls exchanged a look.
Not friendly.
Interesting.
“Since when?” the other asked.
“Since I said so.”
Her tone was calm.
But firm.
I felt it then.
This wasn’t just about dance.
There were dynamics here.
Power.
Territory.
And somehow, I’d stepped into the middle of it.
The music started again.
This time louder.
More aggressive.
We moved in formation. I did my best to keep up.
But I could feel the eyes on me.
Measuring.
Calculating.
Dawn didn’t look at me once during the routine.
And somehow that bothered me more than the whispers.
When practice ended, the girls left first.
Without saying goodbye.
The door shut behind them.
Dawn stayed still for a moment.
Then sighed.
“You don’t scare easy,” she said.
“I grew up in a house where silence is louder than shouting.”
That made her glance at me again.
Different this time.
Less guarded.
“You’ll need thick skin if you’re staying,” she added.
“Am I?”
She hesitated.
Then:
“Yes.”
The word was quiet.
But decisive.
Something warm settled in my chest.
Not victory.
Not triumph.
Just… belonging.
As I picked up my bag, she spoke again.
“Don’t make me regret this, Olumide.”
I met her eyes.
“I won’t.”
And for the first time in a long time…
I meant it.
- Writer
