The Dance of Familiar Strangers

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.