Familiar Tune

The nostalgic melody of a familiar song began to drift through the dimly lit bar, weaving its way between the clinking of glasses, the low murmur of conversation, and the gentle creak of wooden floorboards. The tune—soft, melodic, unmistakably timeless—wrapped itself around Mia like a worn blanket from childhood. It tugged at something buried deep inside her: a memory, a feeling, a version of herself she hadn't touched in years.

Her head turned instinctively, and as the first notes of the chorus played, her eyes lit up with a surprised, almost childlike delight. She hadn't heard this song in ages.

"Oh, I love this song," she said, the words slipping out with unfiltered warmth. Her voice rose just enough to carry over the gentle hum of the bar without disturbing its quiet mood.

Kris looked at her, caught mid-sip of his drink. The sharp edge that usually lingered behind his smirk softened. He set his glass down, the corners of his mouth lifting in something almost—almost—gentle.

"It's a classic," he said with a quiet nod. "Always brings back memories, doesn't it?"

Mia nodded, her gaze drifting toward the window where the rain gently tapped against the pane. Her expression turned thoughtful, the candlelight from their table flickering across her features. "Yeah," she murmured. "Reminds me of... simpler times. Of being in the moment. No pressure, no expectations. Just..." She trailed off, letting the sentiment hang in the air like the lingering note of a piano chord.

For a brief second, neither of them said anything. The bar, though still active, faded into the background. And then, with that signature gleam of mischief in his eye—though tempered now, more teasing than arrogant—Kris pushed his chair back slightly and stood.

He extended a hand toward her, palm up. "Dance with me, princess?"

Mia blinked, caught off guard. Her heart skipped once, twice. Her first instinct was to laugh, to roll her eyes, to say something sarcastic. But the look on his face stopped her. It wasn't mockery. It wasn't manipulation.

It was sincere.

She stared at his hand for a heartbeat longer, then slowly reached out and placed hers in his. His grip was warm, firm but careful, as if he feared she might pull away at any second. He led her through the maze of scattered tables, their steps light, unhurried. A few patrons glanced up but quickly returned to their conversations. No one paid them much attention.

The "dance floor" was barely more than a cleared corner near the jukebox, but in that moment, it could have been a ballroom.

They began to sway, slowly at first, the rhythm finding its way into their bodies with surprising ease. Mia wasn't a natural dancer, but Kris guided her with unexpected grace. His hand rested lightly against the small of her back, his other gently cradling her hand in his.

For once, there were no clever comebacks, no sarcastic digs. The world shrank down to the music and the way their bodies moved in sync. The irony wasn't lost on her—of all the people to share this moment with, Kris Windsor. And yet, it felt... right.

As the song carried them forward, she felt her earlier apprehension begin to melt. The guarded walls she'd built around herself—especially when it came to Kris—seemed to blur, lose shape, soften. Her chest ached, not with confusion or resentment, but with something gentler. Something frighteningly close to hope.

The song swelled, nearing its crescendo, and without thinking, Kris pulled her in just a little closer. Not enough to cross a line, but enough that she could feel the rise and fall of his chest, the warmth of his breath near her ear.

His eyes met hers. And something passed between them—unspoken, undeniable.

"I'm glad you're here, Mia," he said, his voice barely louder than the music, but it cut through everything else like it was the only sound in the world.

She hesitated, then smiled. Not the forced, polite kind. A real one. "Me too, Kris." Her voice was steady, sure. "Tonight feels... special."

He nodded, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his features—something genuine, something vulnerable.

They danced in silence after that, letting the music speak for them. For a few more minutes, there was no rivalry, no power games, no confusion. Just two people suspended in time, surrounded by flickering candlelight and the comforting echo of a familiar song.

And as the final note faded, Mia knew something had shifted—subtly, irreversibly.

Whatever this strange, unexpected connection between them was...It was real.And it was only just beginning.