At the masquerade ball, they danced.
No names, no faces—just movement, laughter, the press of hands.
“You feel familiar,” he murmured.
She smiled. “Maybe we’ve met before.”
The clock tower chimed twelve times, and the masks stayed on.
“Will I ever see you again?” he asked.
She hesitated, then whispered with a smirk, “If you can find me.”
And just like that, she disappeared into the crowd.
Discover more from Writing Struggles
Subscribe to get the latest posts sent to your email.