BETWEEN SEA & STONE (SHE MOVED FIRST)  

She met me off-beat.

Rain on the first step — 

which felt deliberate. 

She wanted to see

how I handled friction.

She’d taken the floor

before the music announced itself.

Didn’t look at me — just moved

with the kind of certainty

that says when you’re ready, you’ll follow.

I stepped in counting. 

Quietly.

Numbers tucked behind my teeth.

She was already between them.

A kind smile — never laughter —

dancing away, 

letting the floor

expose any stiffness.

I mirrored from a distance at first.

Borrowed posture.

Borrowed cool.

She waited.

Patient. 

Warm. 

Then she loosened the ground.

Sand underfoot,

familiar wind caressing my shoulders.

Ipanema teaching without syllables —

joy travelling faster

than explanation ever could.

Bodies spoke in arcs and pauses.

Energy passed hand to hand

without stopping to introduce itself.

She didn’t check if I followed.

That’s how I knew

I was invited.

It was deliberate.
And it wasn’t.

Confident, she brought me closer —
not just to people,
but to circles.
Families widening mid-step,
space negotiated, not claimed.

Mistakes redistributed.
Belonging extended early,
before I learned how to ask for it.

I lost myself properly.
She smiled
and didn’t rush me back.

Each and every morning arrived. 

Iron. Breath. Salt. Vitamin D. 

On those same shining sands,
she showed me a game with no score.

Altinha.

Progress through response.
Defence as invitation.
Initiative traded, not taken —
pressure answered with grace.

A logic disguised as leisure.

No winning.
Just keeping it alive.

Here,
everything dances.

I dropped it.

She returned it

without comment.

That was the lesson.

I’d leave.

She’d pick up mid-motion. 

like we’d never stopped moving. 

Somewhere in repetition,
my rhythm came back.
Not the one I arrived with —
the one I’d misplaced elsewhere.

Urgency loosened.
Listening improved.
My feet stopped apologising
for taking space.

She started calling me names —
The kind you earn. 

The sign of home. 

Looks began to linger.
Once means curiosity.
Twice means the floor is open.
Anything after that
is just fear rehearsing.

So I crossed rooms
before doubt could dress itself.
Sometimes clumsily.
Sometimes beautifully.

Mostly clumsily. 

She never graded the outcome.

Only the honesty of the step.

By the end,

I realised,
she wasn’t leading anymore.
She was moving beside me.

Community folded me in
without ceremony.
Family without inheritance.
A place where being seen
didn’t require performance.

I didn’t become fluent.
I became present.

When it was time to leave — at least for now,
she didn’t say goodbye.
Just shifted her weight,
ready for whatever came next.

She continues to move.

And in that movement,

I’m held.

I understood then:
she never taught me how to dance.

She simply moved my rhythm —
Gave me people to share it with.
And trusted I’d remember
how to step in time
long after the song changed.

J.T.