I Love A Guy, But He's 15 Years Older

Then he gently asked, “Hmm, are you tired today?”

They’re such a perfect couple. They’re really meant to be, and I, from the very beginning, have always been the outsider.

I opened my laptop and started booking my flight. My aunt had already taken care of everything, and in three days, I’d be on my way.

Once everything was packed up, I stood in the center of the rehearsal room, and for the last time, I performed that dance they all thought I plagiarized.

No music, just me and my reflection in the mirror.

I moved slowly through each step like I was pouring all the sweet, sour, and bitter moments of these years into every movement.

After finishing the final step, I took a deep bow. That bow wasn’t just for the past—it was a goodbye and a hope for what’s next.

With less than a week before I left, I started sorting through the things I needed to sell.

To make some extra cash, I applied for a part-time teaching gig at a nearby ballet dance academy three months ago.

“Your fundamentals are awesome,” the instructor said after watching me demonstrate. “When can you start teaching?”

“Anytime,” I told her.

So, just like that, I started my nine-to-five teaching schedule. Mostly basic classes, with kids and teens as my students.

Watching them practice so earnestly, I saw a glimpse of my younger self.

Sometimes, I’d come across kids who truly loved dancing. The pure passion in their eyes reminded me of how I’d felt when I first started dancing—so simple, so pure, untainted by anything else.

After the academy closed in the evenings, I’d stay behind to practice by myself. I’d turn off the main lights and leave only the spotlight on. In that soft glow, I’d choreograph a new routine.

It was a dance about farewells. No fancy moves, just the most basic steps. But every step was filled with my emotions, a reflection of everything I’d been through over the years.

Sometimes, I practiced until late into the night. The entire building would be silent, with only the sound of music and my footsteps echoing in the empty studio.

One night, though, I ran into Ulysses at the convenience store downstairs from the studio.

He was standing by the door, looking tired. “Still practicing this late?” he asked.

I stopped and walked over to wipe the sweat off my face. “Yeah, I’m about to head out.”

“Go home. It’s late, and it’s not safe,” he said.

I kept my head down. “You don’t need to worry about me.”

He was quiet for a moment. “I haven’t seen you at home lately.”

“I got a job outside,” I replied.

“Money’s tight?” he asked.

I looked up and met his concerned gaze, feeling a sudden wave of bitterness in my chest. “No, I just want to make a bit more.”

He pulled out his wallet. “If you need anything, I can—”

“No, it’s fine,” I interrupted. “I can handle it myself.”

After that, I grabbed my bag and prepared to leave. As I walked past him, he suddenly said, “I’m sorry.”

I paused, my steps faltering. “Why are you apologizing?”

“About the competition…” he started.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I cut him off, forcing a bitter smile. “It’s all in the past now.”

He seemed like he wanted to say more, but his phone rang. It was Ginger calling. I took that chance to leave quickly, afraid that if I stayed a second longer, I wouldn’t be able to control my emotions.

Back home, I continued sorting through the things I needed to sell.

When I opened one of the boxes, I froze. Inside were the gifts Ulysses had given me over the years: the ballet shoes for my 14th birthday, the necklace for my 16th, the watch for my 17th…

Each one carried a special memory. I remembered the look on his face when he gave me these gifts. I remembered every word he’d said.