written by Aisling King (she/her)
a creative writer based in Wiltshire
He sees her but she saw him first. The beat thumps forward and the light scatters across the dancefloor. He glitters under the strobes, cheekbones like daggers and eyes awakened by her glance. Her hands are in her hair and her body sways as an invitation. She is never more in control than when her feet are stepping to the music. He walks towards her. No, not walks. He is her mirror and his movements are water as the song flows within him. He is fluidity embodied as he travels and his body sinks into the rhythm. Her heartbeat syncs to his pace and in that they are one. And so it begins.
His hands, hot to the touch, are on her waist, his breath heavy on her neck. They move in synchrony, their bodies moulding to each others shapes like they’ve only ever danced together. No words necessary.
Every single footstep on that floor is creating one pulse but yet the two of them are secluded. A cave created with their bodies amongst the crowd. A glimmer of light (her hand on his neck), the pace quickens (lips locked), the taste of sweat on her lips (his or hers?).
Can you fall in love with a stranger or is it just this song, she wonders. She feels his hand slipping away and suddenly he is gone as quickly as he arrived. But she remains, always moving. She’ll meet him again on the dancefloor, she is sure.