My Well Wisher (Editing)

Chapter -1

Taking a deep breath, slowly she stood on the tip of her toes. As the pianist’s fingers started moving gracefully over the piano keys, her feet moved with even more grace, gliding across the room as though she was a maple leaf that is flying in the autumn wind. The air around her kissed her cheeks as she twirled in the center of the room, her arms holding the empty space in front of her as though holding onto a long lost lover. Even with her closed eyes, she could feel gaze of all that were present in the dance room, but she only cared for the chords playing from the corner of the room. A sense of calmness took place in her heart with each twirl and jump that she did, as though the world had disappeared entirely and all that is left is she and the music.

The song started towards its end and slowly she opened her eyes. She knew it was now her chance to do the perfect spin on but just one toe, something her ballet teacher had been saying she needed to work on and she had been working on it for weeks. With her chin held high and arms embracing the air, she twirled and the room spins with her. The faces of her fellow dancers that were standing by the wall with her teacher seemed like a blur, but something out of the group was standing there as well. Something whom when she saw she fell on the floor with a frightened gasp, tarnishing all the effort she had put on practicing this twirl, all the while twisting her foot which made her cry out in pain. The pianist, Jackson, stopped the chords and rushed towards her, as did the dancers and the teacher. However, as she held her foot in pain, she cared for none of them; her eyes stayed glued to the hazy unmoving figure that was standing by the wall. Its face was burnt and melted from one side and was covered in mud and blood, so was his ragged attire. His bare feet were bleeding, leaving stains on the wooden floor of the dance-room.

No one saw the figure though as they circled around her sitting form on the floor. Ignorant to the group, she kept her fearful gaze on that figure, as it kept its gaze on her. Her ballet teacher took hold on her foot and this abrupt act distracted her from the distorted man.

“It’s not broken, thankfully,” The teacher, Mrs. Roswell said as she examined Fleur’s foot, “There is a strain though, and the swelling would most likely last for a few days.”

A sour expression took place on her soft features that turned even sourer when Mrs. Roswell told her that not everyone could master the move she had just failed to do. As the dancers began to chat with each other, and the teacher stood up and walked away, Fleur slowly turned her head towards where the figure was. Nobody was there now, as nobody ever is whom she sees. There was no bloodstain on the floor either, but the peace she had felt moments ago when she was gliding across the room, was stained, as it always did when such episodes took place. Although her therapist always told her to keep in mind, that the things such as these that she sees are not real, but the terror of them took place in her heart anyway, every single time.

The next two hours went by uneventful; after the teacher wrapped a bandage around her foot, and gave her a painkiller, the only thing Fleur could think of was had she had not slipped, then she could have proved that she can master that spin. Throughout the evening, she had been sitting aside and watching the rest of the dancers practicing their moves; through the glass window that went from the ceiling to the floor, she could see the sun setting behind the towering buildings of New York, and soon the cold dark night sky replaced the warm evening one. Moreover, out of boredom, she gave a look to each corner of the dance room that she had seen so many times in the past six months, ever since she had moved to New York. She looked at every corner, except the one where she had seen the figure before.

When the class was over, Fleur was more than ready to leave. Without looking back at the dance room, she rushed out. However, had she looked back she would have found the figure that she had seen before, was standing unerringly where she had last seen him; watching her leave.