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The Paris Opera Ballet studio was quiet as the last echoes of the day’s rehearsal faded into the walls. Félicie and the other students had long since departed, leaving behind only the faint scent of rosin and the soft light of the moon streaming through the high windows. Odette pulled the shawl tighter around her shoulders, her footsteps whispering across the polished floor as she locked the doors behind her.
It had been another long day. Félicie’s progress was astounding, but Odette couldn’t help the ache in her heart each time she corrected her posture, a memory of what she herself had once been capable of flickering at the edges of her thoughts.
She needed air.
Stepping out onto the rooftop of the studio, she exhaled, the cool night breeze a welcome balm against the tension that had been building in her chest. The city stretched before her, its lights twinkling like stars fallen to earth. Paris always seemed most alive at night.
What she hadn’t expected was the silhouette of someone already there, framed against the backdrop of the Seine.
“Louis,” she said softly, her voice carrying just enough to catch his attention.
He turned, surprise flickering in his dark eyes before it softened into something unreadable. “Odette. I didn’t realize anyone else came up here.”
“I could say the same.” She hesitated for a moment before crossing the threshold fully, leaning on the low wall that overlooked the city. “Long day?”
“Every day is long,” he replied with a wry smile, but there was an edge of weariness to his voice. His hands rested on the wall beside her, close enough that she could feel their warmth despite the chill in the air.
For a time, they stood in companionable silence, the hum of the city below filling the space between them.
“I used to come up here often,” Odette said at last, breaking the quiet. “Back when I was still… dancing.”
Her words hung in the air, and she saw his posture shift slightly, as though he wanted to say something but thought better of it.
“You never told me that,” he said finally.
“I suppose there’s a lot we never told each other,” she replied, her gaze fixed on the horizon.
Louis didn’t answer immediately, and when she glanced at him, his expression was distant, lost in thought. “Do you regret it?” he asked.
The question caught her off guard. “Regret what?”
“Leaving.”
A bitter laugh escaped her before she could stop it. “I didn’t leave, Louis. The choice was made for me. You know that better than anyone.”
His jaw tightened, and she saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes. “I didn’t mean—”
“I know what you meant,” she said, her tone softening. “And to answer your question… sometimes. But regret changes nothing. And I’ve made peace with it.”
He nodded, but the silence that followed was heavy.
“Do you remember the first time we danced together?” he asked suddenly, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
Odette blinked, startled by the sudden shift, but the memory surfaced easily. “Of course I do. It was at the Conservatoire gala. I was terrified.”
“You didn’t show it,” he said. “You were extraordinary. I knew then…” He trailed off, his smile fading. “I knew you were something rare.”
She felt her chest tighten, the warmth of his words battling the cold ache of old wounds. “And you were insufferable,” she said, a teasing edge to her voice.
His laugh was quiet but genuine. “I was confident.”
“You were arrogant,” she corrected, but her own smile betrayed her. “Always so sure of yourself, so convinced you had everything figured out.”
“And yet, I was wrong,” he said, his voice dropping just enough that the words carried a weight she wasn’t prepared for.
She looked at him then, really looked at him, and saw the years etched into his face—the lines of strain and regret that hadn’t been there when they were younger.
“Louis…”
“I hurt you,” he said simply, his gaze fixed on the city below. “I thought I was doing what was best - for both of us. But I was a coward.”
Odette’s breath caught, and she turned away, gripping the edge of the wall as though it could anchor her. “You’re not the only one who made mistakes,” she said quietly. “I wasn’t ready to let anyone in. Not then.”
They fell into silence again, but this time it was heavy with unspoken truths.
“I thought about you,” Louis said after a long while. His voice was soft, almost hesitant, as though he were afraid of her reaction. “More than I care to admit. Even after everything.”
Her throat tightened, and she forced herself to meet his gaze. “I thought about you too,” she admitted. “And I hated myself for it.”
He flinched, but she pressed on. “You were my partner, Louis. Not just in dance, but in everything. And when I lost that, when I lost you… it felt like losing a part of myself.”
He reached out then, his hand hovering just above hers on the wall. “Odette, I-”
“You don’t have to say anything,” she interrupted, pulling away before he could touch her. The distance was safer. “It’s in the past. We’ve both moved on.”
“Have we?” he asked, his voice low and searching.
She froze, her heart pounding in her chest. “We don’t have a choice,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
For a moment, neither of them spoke, the tension between them crackling like a live wire. Then Louis sighed, stepping back and running a hand through his hair.
“I came up here tonight because I felt… lost,” he admitted. “I’ve spent so much of my life chasing perfection, pushing others to achieve it, and yet… I wonder if I even know what it looks like anymore.”
His vulnerability surprised her, and for the first time in years, she saw the man she had once loved - and perhaps still did—not the strict ballet master, but the passionate, idealistic dancer who had captured her heart.
“You were never lost,” she said softly. “You just forgot what you were looking for.”
Their eyes met, and something unspoken passed between them—a fragile thread connecting the shards of their shared history.
“I miss it,” she confessed. “Dancing. The freedom of it, the way it made me feel alive. I thought I could move on, but there are days when it feels like I’m standing still, watching the world move without me.”
Louis took a step closer, his expression earnest. “You haven’t stopped moving, Odette. You’ve found a new way to dance—through Félicie, through the students. You’re still shaping something beautiful.”
The sincerity in his voice brought a lump to her throat, and she looked away, blinking back tears. “And what about you? Do you still dance?”
“Not like I used to,” he admitted. “But sometimes, late at night, when the studio is empty… I remember.”
She smiled faintly. “Maybe one day we’ll dance again. Just for ourselves.”
“Maybe,” he said, though his tone was tinged with doubt.
As the night deepened, the air grew colder, and Odette wrapped her shawl tighter around herself. Mérante moved to her side, his presence a quiet comfort.
“The stars look brighter tonight,” she said, her gaze fixed upward when she suddenly noticed a shooting star.
“Perhaps it’s because you’re here,” he replied, his voice soft but steady.
She glanced at him, startled by the tenderness in his words, and for a moment, she allowed herself to believe in the possibility of something new - something that could grow from the ashes of what they had once been.
“Goodnight, Louis,” she said finally, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Goodnight, Odette,” he replied, watching as she disappeared into the shadows, leaving him alone under the stars.
But this time, the night didn’t feel quite so empty.