Serena can’t dance.
She enjoys music and has been forced to learn many instruments, but she has no rhythm.
That doesn’t stop her from trying.
Whenever they attend one of the street festivals, Serena is the first to hike up her skirts and wriggle about. She often takes Layla’s hand and drags her out into the crowd, too. Not that Layla can dance either.
It’s not about skill though. It’s about having fun, laughing and dancing after they’ve had their fill of fruit pies and hibiscus tea.
They share kisses when they dance close, Serena and her citrus tartlets, Layla and her boysenberry puffs.
Serena’s cheeks flush. She pulls her hair into a messy bun on top of her head. Dangling brass earrings jangle as she swings her body in tight circles.
Layla prays that she doesn’t trip again.
Then again, Layla does so enjoy catching her before she falls.