The crowd cheered louder as they were guided forward together, parting just enough to let them through. The noise blurred, turning into a dull roar as they walked.
Each step closer to the stage made the sensation worse.
Rhea's fingers trembled slightly.
Ling felt it.
Her thumb brushed against Rhea's knuckles—not intentionally, not gently—just a reflex.
Rhea's breath caught.
Ling's grip tightened for half a second before she forced it to loosen.
Get a hold of yourself, Ling ordered silently.
They reached the steps.
Someone said, "Careful," as they climbed.
Ling stepped up first, steadying herself—and without thinking, she held Rhea's hand a little firmer to guide her up.
The contact sent another wave through both of them.
Rhea's vision blurred briefly.
Ling's chest tightened painfully.
This is not normal.
They reached the stage.
Lights flared brighter. Applause erupted. The host clapped excitedly into the mic.
"And that," she announced happily, "makes all ten pairs complete!"
The crowd cheered again.
Rhea finally let go.
The second their hands separated, both of them felt it—an abrupt, hollow absence.
Like something had been taken away too quickly.
Rhea curled her fingers into her palm, grounding herself.
Ling flexed her hand once, subtly.
The host grinned at the group lined up behind them. "Look at them! Perfect matches everywhere tonight!"
Rhea kept her gaze forward.
Ling did the same.
Neither dared to look sideways.
"All right," the host continued, excitement rising, "now comes the fun part."
Groans and cheers mixed together.
"But first," she added, holding up a hand, "we need ideas."
She turned toward the crowd. "Any suggestions? What should we make these matching pairs do?"
Hands shot up instantly.
"Kiss!" someone shouted.
The hall erupted.
Rhea stiffened instantly.
Ling's jaw clenched.
"No," another voice laughed. "Too basic!"
"Dance!"
"Truth questions!"
"Swap masks!"
"Ohhh—swap masks!"
Rhea's heart skipped violently at that one.
Her breath turned shallow.
Please no.
Ling felt the same sharp twist in her chest, eyes narrowing beneath the mask.
The host laughed. "Easy, easy! So many ideas!"
She looked back at the pairs on stage. "Don't worry, we won't traumatize anyone—too much."
The crowd laughed.
Rhea swallowed hard.
Ling crossed her arms slowly, posture radiating authority even without a name attached to it.
The host tilted her head thoughtfully. "Let's hear one more!"
A voice near the front called out, loud and playful, "Make them talk to each other!"
That suggestion rippled through the crowd—less wild, more curious.
Rhea's throat tightened.
Ling exhaled slowly.
The host smiled. "Hmm. Interesting."
She raised the mic. "All right, final decision coming up."
Rhea stared straight ahead, pulse racing.
Ling stood still, controlled, unreadable.
They didn't know each other.
They hadn't recognized each other.
But something invisible had already gone terribly wrong—
because neither of them could stop thinking about the warmth that had vanished from their hand.
The announcement echoed through the banquet hall, lights dimming slightly as anticipation thickened the air.
"Round one: Dance."
The host's voice was bright, teasing. "Five couples will be eliminated. Judges will look for synchronization, connection, and flow. Music will start in ten seconds."
A murmur rippled across the crowd.
Ling stood tall, hands relaxed at her sides, expression unreadable beneath the Bauta mask. Outwardly calm. Internally—alert. Calculating. She had not danced on a stage like this in months, not for display, not under scrutiny.
But her body remembered discipline. Control. Precision.
Beside her, Rhea's shoulders were tense.
She kept her gaze fixed forward, afraid—terrified—that if she turned even slightly, something fragile inside her would crack.
The air felt heavy. Her heartbeat was uneven. She had danced before, casually, freely—but never like this. Never with this strange pressure curling tight around her chest.
It's just a dance, she told herself. Just survive this round. Then it's over.
The music started.
A slow, deep rhythm at first—sensual, measured. Not fast. Not forgiving.
Couples instinctively turned toward each other.
Ling didn't speak.
She simply lifted her hand again—same hand as before. Calm. Expectant.
Rhea hesitated only a second before placing her palm in Ling's.
The contact sent a shock through them both—stronger than before.
Ling's fingers closed gently but firmly, anchoring. Her other hand hovered for a fraction of a second, then settled at Rhea's waist with perfect propriety—just enough pressure to guide, not claim.
Rhea inhaled sharply.
Her body reacted before her mind could interfere.
Why does this feel… ?
They moved.
Not rushed. Not dramatic.
Ling led with minimal motion, her steps clean, grounded. Every shift of weight was deliberate. She didn't look at Rhea's feet; she didn't need to. She felt the rhythm through the contact, through the subtle tension in their joined hands.
Rhea followed.
At first stiffly—then smoother.
Her body began to mirror without conscious effort. A step back. A turn. A pivot. Their timing aligned almost instantly, like gears clicking into place.
The crowd noticed.
Whispers rose.
"They're good."
"Look at that sync."
"They didn't even practice."
Rhea's fear eased slightly, replaced by something else—focus. The world narrowed to movement and breath. Ling's hand at her waist adjusted minutely, correcting posture, guiding a turn. Not forceful. Not invasive. Precise.
Ling felt it too.
Her chest tightened—not with pain, but with a dangerous familiarity. The way Rhea responded to guidance. The instinctive trust. The way her body moved with Ling, not against her.
Impossible, Ling told herself coldly. Coincidence.
The music built, tempo increasing.
Other couples stumbled—missed beats, awkward pauses, overcorrections.
Ling and Rhea stayed fluid.
A spin—Rhea turned, skirt flaring, Ling's grip steady. She pulled Rhea back in smoothly, timing flawless.
Their masks brushed briefly as they passed close.
Both froze internally.
Breaths tangled.
But they did not look at each other.
They couldn't.
If they did, something would break.
Ling dipped Rhea slightly—controlled, elegant, no theatrics.
Applause exploded.
Rhea barely registered it. Her pulse was racing. Her fingers still rested against Ling's shoulder, reluctant to let go.