The Almost Dance

Leila stood on the outskirts, arms folded loosely, a faint smile ghosting her lips at the scene unfolding. It reminded her of parties she barely remembered from a past timeline—memories that felt both comforting and painfully distant.

Kai approached, carrying two cups of a weak, sweet brew Fiona had concocted. He offered one to her with a tentative smile. "Mark insisted we lighten up," he said in mock seriousness.

She let out a quiet laugh, accepting the cup. "Guess I can't argue with tonight's success."

They sipped the brew in companionable silence, the music flowing around them. Maeve switched to a livelier tune, and a few survivors started a makeshift dance in the center of the courtyard—couples stepping awkwardly, some swaying without formal steps, just letting the guitar's strums guide them.

Leila felt a gentle tug on her heart, an echo of longing for the normalcy that once defined human gatherings. She turned to Kai, noticing a sparkle in his eyes—like he, too, was remembering a life before the apocalypse.

Without a word, they drifted closer to where people danced. It was not an open invitation, more a mutual following of the crowd. The swirl of bodies parted enough for them to stand at the fringe, warmth from the small bonfire seeping through the cool night air.

Someone brushed past, beaming with a half-drunk grin, urging them to join the dance floor. "Go on," the survivor teased, gesturing with a half-eaten piece of roasted pepper.

Kai's gaze flicked to Leila. He lifted his hand in a quiet question. She swallowed, her pulse quickening. The memory of old heartbreak surfaced—Jace's betrayal, the raw confession she'd shared with Kai. Yet the music, the moment, was tempting.

She set her cup down on a nearby crate, licked her lips nervously, and nodded. The air thickened around them as they stepped into the circle of dancers, the torch flames casting shifting patterns on the ground.

Kai placed one hand lightly on her waist, the other holding hers gently. She suppressed a shiver at the contact, recalling how real trust still felt out of reach, but letting herself lean into the possibility for just a second. They began to sway to Maeve's tune—tentative steps, awkward but sincere.

The guitar's melody rose, some watchers cheered softly at the new couples or pairs dancing. Leila's chest constricted with emotion: relief, fear, an echo of something tender she'd locked away.

But as Kai's hand steadied on her waist and they found a quiet rhythm, an overwhelming wave crashed over her—memories of Jace leading her in a dance once, the illusions she had about their future, the heartbreak of seeing him throw her to the undead. She couldn't breathe. Suddenly the music felt too loud, the torchlight too bright, each swirl of the crowd crowding her lungs.

A choked sound escaped her throat. "I— I'm sorry," she managed, stepping back abruptly, nearly stumbling.

Kai's eyes widened with concern. "Leila?"

She shook her head, retreating from the circle of dancers, ignoring the inquisitive glances. "I can't… I'm sorry," she repeated in a rush, turning on her heel.

He moved to follow, but she raised a hand, not in anger, but in a pleading gesture for space. Her heart hammered with conflicting feelings: longing for normalcy, terror of betrayal, guilt for not being ready. She fled into the shadows near the orchard fence, the music continuing behind her, laughter and dancing mocking her tumultuous emotions.

In the orchard's dim corner, she leaned against a wooden post, gulping air as she wrestled the swirl of panic threatening to overwhelm her. Why do I always freeze? she thought bitterly. Why can't I let myself feel something good without remembering how trusting Jace nearly destroyed me—literally killed me?

She closed her eyes, letting the orchard's hush soothe her racing heart. The faint notes of Maeve's guitar drifted over, mingling with the crackle of firewood. She heard couples laughing, felt the festival's energy from afar, but it felt a world away, an event for people less burdened by old ghosts.

She sensed footsteps behind her. Turning slowly, she saw Kai—concern etched on his features, but he kept a respectful distance. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I shouldn't have pushed."

Leila forced a tiny, trembling smile. "No. It's not you. It's me… my past. I just… need time."

He nodded, hands at his sides, as though wanting to comfort her but unsure if she'd accept. "Take all the time you need," he murmured, echoing what he'd said before.

She let out a shaky breath, the tension in her shoulders easing a fraction. "I appreciate that. Really."

They stood in that orchard corner, the festival's glow flickering through the trees. Survivors still danced or chatted in the courtyard, oblivious to Leila's silent inner battle. She looked at Kai, eyes brimming with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. "I want to believe things can be normal again," she whispered. "But I'm not there yet."

He dipped his head in understanding. "We'll get there," he said quietly. "One step."

She swallowed, nodding. "One step," she echoed, a slight warmth stirring in her chest despite the emotional storm.

They eventually returned to the courtyard in time to see the festival winding down. Bowls and plates were being cleared, the final notes of Maeve's guitar fading into the crackling of the main fire. Darren offered them a wave, Mark busied himself with extinguishing torches near the orchard gate, and Harriet's group began to retreat to quarantine, albeit with noticeably less tension surrounding them than usual. Tamsin's watchers stood on the fringes, arms no longer folded so tightly, as though the festival had thawed them just a bit.

Leila parted ways with Kai near the orchard gate, giving him a faint, apologetic smile she hoped conveyed I'm still trying. He returned a quiet nod before heading off to ensure watchers had everything under control.

In the dim corridors leading to her quarters, she marveled at how the day had begun with the simplest idea—Mark's harvest festival—and ended with a communal feast where, for a few hours, old suspicions relaxed. Even Harriet's group seemed more accepted, Tamsin's hostility softened by the yield of the farmland. The festival had served its purpose, bringing them closer, reminding them of what they fought for. Yet for Leila, it had also underscored her own labyrinth of fears and desires.

As she collapsed onto her cot, the memory of Kai's hand on her waist lingered, igniting a mix of warmth and residual panic. She wasn't ready to dance through that door fully. But maybe, just maybe, she could keep taking those hesitant steps—balancing heartbreak with a fragile hope for something more.

The courtyard lights dimmed, the last of the festival's embers flickering out. Survivors drifted to sleep under a sky now devoid of the day's bright illusions. But the memory of music and laughter lingered, a gentle promise that even in a broken world, moments of normalcy could still be found. And that, for one night, was enough.