The sounds of soft snow crunching under his feet, and a calm, refreshing breeze just passing by fills his ears. Yuki, a contemporary dancer of 15 years, and currently 18 years old, grabs a key from the reception, unlocking a door down a hallway that seems to be endless. Walking in, the soft smell of light dust, and an old, vanilla-scented candle fills his nose. The sunlight seems to cover the room, lighting up the mirrors and peaceful windows.
Preparing his shoes, he gets ready to spill the sound of his steps over the floors. Letting his silence be the base for something that he's put all his passion into all these years. His thing, his hobby, the meaning he was born into this world. The soft click and stomp of his steps seem like just enough to fill the room, despite having barely any sound at all. It's life. HIS life. Something that fills him with the desire to pursue it.
Yuki steps farther into the studio, the wooden floor slightly cool under his feet through the thin soles of his practice shoes. He breathes in deeply—air that somehow tastes like nostalgia. Like every version of himself that has ever danced here is still lingering in the corners of the room, watching him quietly.
He ties the second shoe, the lace sliding smoothly between his fingers.A soft sunbeam cuts across the floorboards, warming the crown of his head. It feels like the universe placing a hand there, telling him, go on.
Yuki stands.
His reflection in the mirror stands with him—taller than before, older than the last time he was here, his shoulders broader, gaze sharper. But the fire in his eyes is the same one he discovered when he was three and took his first clumsy spin in front of a scratched-up living room TV.
He stretches, neck first, then shoulders, then the long lines of his legs. Every movement cracks a memory open:
Competitions. Practice rooms. Crying in the bathroom after a mistake. Laughing until his face hurt when his friends lifted him after a perfect routine. Quiet nights staring at the ceiling, wondering if his future was ever going to look the way he dreamed.
And now he's here.
Alone.But ready.
He walks to the speaker in the corner—an old thing, practically prehistoric—but it still works. He plugs in his phone and scrolls through playlists until he finds the one he made last week.
"Winter Lights — Practice Ver."
A soft instrumental swells into the air, gentle at first, like the first snowflake landing on an outstretched hand.
His heart responds instantly.
Yuki takes his place in the center of the studio.
For a moment, he closes his eyes.
The world dissolves.
The thoughts, the expectations, the pressure—everything scatters like dust blown off an old book. All that remains is a beat. A breath. A promise he made to himself years ago:
I will dance until my body can no longer move… and even then, my soul will keep going.
The music shifts.
Yuki moves.
His foot brushes the ground, a quiet whisper. His arm follows, slicing softly through the air. The rhythm isn't loud, but it pulses through him like a living heartbeat. He lets the sound guide him—step, turn, glide, extend—each motion building into something stronger, richer, freer.
His body knows the choreography, but he lets instinct take over.He lets emotion speak louder than precision.
The mirrors catch every angle of him—his determination, his fluidity, the way he pours his entire history into a single spin.
Then he leaps.
For a split second, he's weightless. Suspended in his own world.Like time is holding its breath just for him.
He lands lightly, feet pressing into the floor as if they've always belonged there.
Yuki exhales, the faintest smile forming.
This room…This dance…This moment…
It reminds him that even if the world outside shifts, even if people leave or paths diverge, this—his art—never abandons him.
The song continues, rising, falling, shimmering.
Yuki lets his heart follow it.
Because this isn't just practice.It's not just movement.
It's the language he was born knowing.The place where he feels most alive.The story he writes with his body instead of words.
And today, as snow falls outside and the room glows with warm sunlight, Yuki realizes something:
He isn't just dancing.
He's becoming the person he always hoped he'd be...
...until he hears a single piano note...