Act II: Catherine's Class
The next day, Lucy had already forgotten much of what had happened in her accounting lecture. What remained instead was the guilty thrill of slipping into the improv room once more.
Joseph greeted her warmly, as always. “You disappeared yesterday—I saved a spot for you,” he teased, though there was no reproach in his smile. Bella, who had been so flamboyant in performance, was quiet now, her dark eyes observant.
And beside them stood a woman Lucy hadn’t seen before: a little older, elegant, with the bearing of someone at ease in her own skin.
“A new student?” the woman asked.
Lucy bowed her head slightly. “Yes. I’m Lucy.”
“She’s been here before,” Joseph said with a grin.
Lucy added quickly, “But I don’t know how to perform.”
The woman’s smile was warm, disarming. “That doesn’t matter. We all begin from zero. Welcome, Lucy. I’m Catherine.”
At the sound of her voice, Lucy felt a surprising calm—an enveloping kindness she hadn’t realised she longed for.
A Warm-up from Catherine
Catherine clapped her hands lightly. “First, take off your shoes.”
The room rustled with confusion, but the students obeyed.
“Feel the ground,” Catherine instructed, “the weight of your body through your feet.”
Lucy closed her eyes. The cool floor seeped into her soles, a quiet stream running into her chest. When Catherine gently tilted her forward, then back, Lucy noticed her own weight shifting, tracing new lines of balance she had never thought to feel.
Catherine folded Lucy forward. Her body was pliant, her forehead nearly touching her legs. For an instant, Lucy felt as though she were drifting in weightless space—peaceful, unbound.
Then Catherine guided her upright again, lifting one leg carefully. Lucy wavered, almost toppled, but Catherine steadied her with a hand on her shoulder.
“Exhale,” Catherine said.
Lucy breathed out, heavy as stone.
“Inhale.”
Lucy drew the air in until her lungs brimmed with it, as though she were swallowing the whole world—the things she loved, the things she hated, everything all at once—and holding it inside.
When she opened her eyes, the class was watching her. For the first time, their gaze did not frighten her. She stood straighter, her heart strangely still.
“How do you feel?” Joseph asked.
Lucy smiled, tentative but true. “Good. Better than I’ve ever felt.”
Bella’s lips curved too, as though she shared in the moment.
Paired Practice
Catherine paired the class. Lucy instinctively looked toward Joseph, but Catherine interjected: “Better to begin girl with girl. It allows for closeness without hesitation.”
Bella stepped forward, cheerful. “That means me.”
Lucy blushed, though she wasn’t sure why.
Catherine’s instruction was simple: “Touch a part of your partner’s body. Let that part begin to dance.”
Before Lucy could think, Bella’s hand pressed gently to her thigh. A shiver ran through Lucy, but she steadied herself. Slowly, she let her leg move—up, down, side to side, sketching circles, tracing shapes like music notes.
“Switch,” Catherine called.
Lucy placed her hand on Bella’s neck, feeling the smoothness of her skin, the warmth of her pulse. Bella’s head tilted, then began to turn, her movements fluid, almost regal. And through it all, her eyes never left Lucy’s.
This time, Lucy did not flinch. Her hand remained, her gaze steady. For the first time, she felt brave.
“Switch again.”
Bella touched Lucy’s arm. Lucy let her hand float, stirring the air like silk, drifting left, then right, before finally landing softly on Bella’s shoulder. They moved together, as though woven into a duet no one had scripted.
“Stop. Rest.”
The spell broke, but Lucy sank into her seat with a warmth still lingering.
Catherine asked each pair to share what they admired about the other.
“Lucy is sincere,” Bella said without hesitation. “Sincere and curious, like fire.”
Lucy hesitated, embarrassed, then blurted, “Bella’s body… it’s beautiful. Like it’s been trained for years.”
Bella only smiled, unbothered, her warmth undimmed.
Bubbles
Catherine returned holding a bottle of bubble water. She handed it to Joseph, who blew through the wand with theatrical gusto. A stream of shimmering bubbles drifted across the room, glowing like fragments of rainbow.
Lucy’s breath caught. She couldn’t remember the last time she had seen bubbles—perhaps when she was five or six, running with her parents in the yard.
“Now,” Catherine said, “show me what you see.”
Bella rose and twirled with the bubbles, her eyes shining with girlish delight. Lucy cupped her hands around one, holding it delicately, as if protecting a long-lost dream. For a fleeting moment she believed she could keep it.
Then—pop. The bubble burst against her palm, leaving only a damp trace, a faint sweetness in the air. Lucy laughed softly, surprised at her own lack of disappointment.
In the background, Catherine smiled, her eyes satisfied.
Lucy realised she had not seen that kind of approval—gentle, unforced—for a very long time.
And in that moment, she felt something settle inside her. Not fear. Not duty. But a steadiness, as though courage had quietly taken root.
A Dream
That night, back in her dorm, Lucy’s eyes fell on her tidy bookshelf and desk—rows of accounting volumes, binders stacked with precise notes.
She thought: perhaps life did not have to split her in two. Perhaps she could have both—her studies and her secret passion, her discipline and her play.
Calmly, almost serenely, she opened her textbook to the chapter covered that day in lecture. The formulas no longer blurred. She underlined, made neat annotations, and for once her hand did not tremble. Catherine’s class had left her body humming with an afterglow, like a deep massage to her spirit, loosening knots she hadn’t known she carried.
The hours slipped by. Lucy finished her assignments with quiet satisfaction, slid the papers into their folder, and closed her books. When she lay down, her mind was neither restless nor frantic. Instead she drifted easily into sleep, wearing the faintest smile, as though she were the luckiest person in the world.
She was once again barefoot in Catherine’s classroom, but this time there were no desks, no books—only a vast open floor. Joseph and Bella stood at the edges, their faces kind but silent, as though waiting to see what she would do.
Lucy hesitated at first, her hands hovering uncertainly. Then, slowly, she lifted her arms, let her body sway, and began to move. Not timidly, not as a reaction to someone else’s touch, but on her own. Her steps grew bolder, her gestures wider, until she was twirling, spinning in the centre of the room, unafraid of the eyes upon her.
Catherine’s voice echoed gently, though Catherine herself was nowhere to be seen: “Breathe, Lucy. Take the space. It’s yours.”
And Lucy did. In her dream she laughed, a free, bright sound, the kind she never dared release when awake.
When she woke in the morning, the dream clung to her like the shimmer of a bubble—fragile, fleeting, yet impossibly real.