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The pristine floor of the ballet studio was cool against Summer’s skin, a welcome reprieve after hours of relentless pirouettes and pliés. The soft rustle of nylon tights brushing against the polished surface filled the quiet room as Summer adjusted her position, lying back on the floor. The familiar weight of exhaustion settled over her body, but it wasn’t the kind of fatigue that begged for sleep. No, it was the kind that begged for stillness—for moments like this, where the world didn’t demand anything of her.
Across from her, Layla sat cross-legged, her dark hair tumbling in loose waves to her waist since she'd abandoned the messy bun it had been in all afternoon. Summer admired her sister's natural beauty—luminescent skin, dark almond eyes, and cheekbones that caught flecks of the golden sunlight streaming through the room’s tall windows. She often wondered how someone as striking as Layla hadn’t attracted—well, anyone. Layla seemed so impossibly self-contained. Summer could never imagine herself being like that.
Still, envy curled in the corners of Summer’s thoughts, not maliciously, but like a persistent rain cloud on what should’ve been a sunny day. She shook it off, turning her attention back to her phone’s screen. Her thumb absently scrolled through an endless Instagram feed. Art accounts, aesthetic mood boards, trending reels full of creative hacks. This was her world outside dance, the corner where her own drawings and paintings were carefully curated for strangers to see. But even her art account seemed stale lately. It always felt like she was chasing something that kept slipping out of reach.
Layla sighed softly, breaking Summer’s spiral of thought. She glanced up, noticing the set of her sister’s mouth as she stared at her own phone. "What are you even looking at?" Summer asked, her voice casual but tinged with curiosity.
Layla didn’t look up. "Some dumb memes," she murmured.
"Liar. You’re not laughing—that’s how I know." Summer propped herself up on her elbows, raising an eyebrow.
Layla rolled her eyes, but there was a flicker of a smile threatening to curve her lips. "Fine, it’s not memes. It’s just... Tina posted another picture series. You know, from her trip to Italy? And now I’m spiraling because what am I doing with my life, sitting in a studio reeking of sweat and chalk? Why do we even do this to ourselves?"
"The eternal question," Summer deadpanned, flopping back onto the floor. "Why do we kill ourselves dancing when we could be eating pizza in Rome?"
Layla snorted but didn’t reply. Instead, she let her phone fall beside her with a soft thud, leaning back on her hands as she stared at the studio ceiling. "I just... don’t want to go home yet."
"Same," Summer admitted quietly. Out of habit, she glanced at the time on her phone, though she already knew their parents wouldn’t be home yet. They wouldn’t start fighting until later, until the moon was high, until the arguments reached that bone-deep fatigue where words became useless flatlines. But that didn’t make the house an easier place to be. Empty or full, it always felt suffocating.
A beat of silence passed between them, heavy but not uncomfortable.
"What if we just... didn’t go back for a while?” Layla suggested, voice careful but hopeful.
Summer frowned slightly, lowering her phone to study her sister. "Where would we go?"
"I don’t know. Does it matter?"
It didn’t. Summer could feel the temptation crackling in her chest, the urge to delay reality just a little longer. To find somewhere—anywhere—they could exist without the weight of expectations. Without the tension of their parents filling up the space around them.
She sat up suddenly, her phone slipping from her lap onto the floor. "Fine. Let’s go. Anywhere but home."
Layla's eyes widened, her surprise quickly morphing into a mischievous grin. "You’re serious? You usually take forever to convince."
"Don’t ruin it by asking too many questions."
Layla grabbed her duffel bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Okay, okay. What’s the plan?”
“I don’t have one," Summer admitted, tying her hair back into a low ponytail. She didn’t care that sweat still clung to her skin or that she looked disheveled. "Let’s just start walking. We can figure it out on the way.”23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ0I2UMBRhuU
They didn’t end up going far, just to a quiet park a few blocks from the studio. There were no kids running around; the swings on the playground swayed only with the occasional gust of wind. The late afternoon sun was soft and golden, casting long, stretched-out shadows across the grass. It felt isolated enough to pretend the rest of the world didn’t exist.
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Layla took off her shoes and socks, plopping down onto the cool grass. Summer followed suit, leaning back on her elbows and staring up at the sky.
“Do you think,” Layla started after a long stretch of silence, “this is what it feels like to be free? Like, actual freedom?”
Summer squinted against the sun, glancing sidelong at her sister.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ2ozaB5dYUP
“What do you mean?”
“Like... not having to worry about anything. No parents to tiptoe around. No ballet instructors barking at you. Just... existing. For yourself. Is this it?” Layla’s voice softened on the last words.
Summer thought about it. 23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSeI0K9HdLV
Thought about how even here, sitting in a park doing absolutely nothing, there was still an invisible thread of tension tugging at her heart. Even when she’d escaped the studio, even when she wasn’t at home, her mind always wandered to everyone else but herself. 23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡGvjr09GvbZ
What they expected. What they needed. What they demanded.
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“I think freedom’s probably more... I don’t know, quieter than this,” Summer said finally. “Like, in your head.”
“You mean, like, not thinking about what other people want all the time?”
“Yeah.”
Layla sighed. “I don’t think I’ve ever had that kind of quiet.”
“Same.”
For a while, they just lay there in the grass, staring at the streaks of orange and pink teasing the edges of the horizon. 23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡuZxgHYfgMW
Two sisters, both too young to be this tired, yet too weary to resist the endless currents of life pulling them along.
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Finally, Summer sat up and plucked lazily at the blades of grass beside her. “You’d probably do great in Italy,” she said, trying to sound nonchalant.
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Layla laughed, though there was a wistful edge to it. “You’re already trying to get rid of me?”
“No, I just mean... You’re one of those people who could really pull off the whole ‘adventuring through Europe’ thing, you know? With your vintage dresses and perfect hair. People would write poetry about you.”
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Layla rolled her eyes, though this time she was laughing for real. “And you wouldn’t?”
Summer smirked. “Everyone already writes poems about me. They just don’t know it’s me.” Her voice dripped with faux confidence, earning another laugh from Layla.23Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡz7DdTSqbif
