In Sync

Years passed.  

At seventeen, Faye had grown into her strengths. Her jumps had become almost weightless, her turns precise and endless. She had learned to mold herself into whatever the choreography needed—powerful, commanding.  

Lena, now fifteen, had refined her artistry. Her lines were even more stunning, her movements painting stories in the air.  

And Maya? With her astonishing heights in jumps, her impeccably neat turns and her beautifully arched lines, it was clear she had an innate gift for the stage.

Maya was loved by everyone, and was every little girl’s role model by then. 

So when the news came that Maya had been scouted by a prestigious ballet academy in another city, the weight of the loss hung in the air like a storm. The class had grown so used to seeing her at the center of every rehearsal, to watching her dance as if she was born for the stage.

Maya wasn’t just part of the studio—she was the heart of it. And when the time came for her to leave, there was no mistaking the devastation in the room.

The farewell party in the dressing room felt like a dream, like something that shouldn’t be real. The huge banner with “Congratulations Maya!” seemed to loom over the group, a reminder that something so good was slipping away.

There were tears, of course—tears from the older girls who had watched Maya blossom into a star, from the teachers who had seen her grow, and even from Madam Lumière, the usually stoic teacher who rarely showed any emotion. She teared up as she hugged Maya, whispering words of encouragement and pride.

“You are the greatest gift to this studio, go forth into the world and shine like the star you are, Maya,” Madam Lumière had said, her voice shaking just a little, a rare display of vulnerability.

Lena stood quietly beside Maya, biting her lip. She wasn’t crying, but her hands trembled as she clutched the hem of her leotard.  

But Faye?  

Faye felt nothing but relief.  

And then, guilt.  

Because when Maya finally left, all Faye could think was— finally

—

For the first time in years, it was just Faye and Lena again.  

And for the first time in years, Faye felt like she could breathe.  

So one evening, after class, as they were having a water break, she leaned against the barre.

"Hey, Lena."  

Lena turned, surprised. "Faye?"  

Faye rubbed the back of her neck. "I—I missed talking to you."  

Lena blinked, then smiled softly. "But… we always talk, don’t we?"  

Faye hesitated. "Yeah, but… I mean, like before. When we were little."  

Lena tilted her head, eyes narrowing slightly, as if she was trying to piece together what Faye was getting at. "Before?"

Something inside Faye twisted.  

Faye’s heart stuttered in her chest, the memories flooding back—times they had spent together, just the two of them, spinning in front of the mirrors, laughing without a care, making up dances that only they understood. Those moments felt like another lifetime now, and the words stuck in her throat.

"You remember, right?" Faye pushed, her voice a little tighter than she intended.

"When we used to play after class? Spin in the mirrors? Make up our own dances?"

Lena frowned slightly, her gaze shifting as she thought for a moment.

Then, with a small shake of her head, she replied quietly, "I don’t remember much from back then. I only really remember when Maya came."

The words hit Faye like a slap to the face. She had expected something different, some part of the past that still lingered in Lena’s mind, but instead, it was like that time had vanished for her. Like it was gone, and Faye was the only one still clinging to it.

It was a knife to the gut.

Faye forced a chuckle, trying to hide the way her heart sank.

"Right. That was a long time ago, anyway. I was being silly."

But the words didn’t come out right. They sounded hollow, even to her own ears.

Lena’s smile faltered, but she didn’t push the subject any further. She seemed to sense that something had shifted between them, but she wasn’t sure what it was.

And Faye, despite the ache in her chest, didn’t know how to fix it—not yet, anyway.

Faye stared at her feet, gripping the barre tighter as the silence stretched on. It was quiet now, more than it had been in years.

But in that silence, Faye could feel the weight of the distance that had crept between them.

—

Faye didn’t know why Lena’s words lingered in her mind.  

I don’t remember much from back then. I only really remember when Maya came.

She had laughed it off in the moment, but that night, as she lay in bed staring at the ceiling, something ached.  

Of course, sweet Lena hadn’t meant anything by it. She had just said it—softly, absently, without realizing what it meant to Faye.  

But Faye remembered everything.   

The way Lena’s tiny hand fit into hers when they first held hands at five and three. The way they used to sneak out of formation to twirl in the mirrors, their giggles echoing in the empty studio.

The way Lena used to watch her, wide-eyed, every time she leaped into the air—like Faye was weightless, like she could fly.  

She remembered how warm it had been to sit beside Lena, their shoulders pressed together, whispering secrets about which dancers they admired.

How they used to play rock-paper-scissors before class to decide who got to go across the floor first.  

But to Lena, it was all gone.  

Faye clenched her fists against the sheets.  

Of course she forgot.

They had barely been ten years old.  

She had no right to feel this way.  

Faye told herself it didn’t matter. She was seventeen now—not a child clinging to old memories. She had let go before, hadn’t she?

Lena had been only three when they met. How could Faye expect her to remember anything? Yet, the ache remained as she hugged her knees, tears burning at the edges of her vision. She wouldn’t cry. She refused to.

One thought rose above the rest, sharp and unforgiving—

I never really mattered to her, did I?

—

But when Faye spotted Lena at the next class, standing at the barre and absentmindedly rubbing the back of her neck—a telltale habit she had only when she was nervous—Faye faltered. The urge to confront her warred with the instinct to rush forward and embrace her.

In the end, she did neither. Before she could second-guess herself, her feet were already moving.

Taking a deep breath, she walked over.

"Hey."

Lena stiffened at the sound of Faye’s voice, her hand freezing at the nape of her neck. For a moment, she didn’t turn, didn’t speak—just breathed. Then, slowly, she shifted to face Faye, her expression carefully blank, but her fingers curled tightly around the barre.

“…Hey,” she said at last, her voice quiet, uncertain.

Faye couldn’t tell if Lena was relieved or bracing for something worse.

For a moment, Faye wanted to ask.

Do you really not remember at all? Not even a little?  

But instead, she just mirrored Lena’s stance, leaning against the barre.  

“Wanna stretch together?”  

Lena blinked, caught off guard by the sudden question, then gave a soft nod. “…Yeah.”  

It wasn’t much. But it was a start.