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Opening your mouth to answer the unwelcoming silence in your apartment after a tough day as an architect, the faint sound of Sumerian music drifts into the inner walls of your apartment. You look towards your bedroom, ears disseminating the melodies and smooth crescendo emitting from that specific direction.
That’s when you recognise it.
Dance of the Delicate Lotus.
Carefully, you pushed open the door with your free hand. In the bedroom is situated a wide three-door wardrobe, with the middle door a full-length mirror. In front of the mirror? Nilou.
Nilou, her right foot back, her arms spread wide, launched into a rather elegant Raghs-E Shamshir in front of the wall mirror, imitating and producing a visual representation on handling the sword on her hands as its own art-form. Dancing was her dream, her entire life’s purpose, and in your honest and humble opinion, the most beautiful thing about her. Building a dancing studio in the lavish apartment was the best decision you have ever made for her.
She was facing away from you, oblivious of your presence, dressed in a stunning attire, she extends and curls her legs in a graceful routine, her arms spreading out and closing in on her body as though she’s still on stage. She twirls and spins as if reflecting a faint sword with relative grace and style, each movement meandering invariably, but was meticulously adjacent, like she was one with the routine in each step forward. She leans forward as her right leg lifts perfectly straight and horizontal behind her, arms spread wide for balance, and you lose yourself in a trance to the music and the elegant display before you.
It flows like water.
She launches into her routine, and years with practice leaves her initial spin and movement steady — but a step forward causes her to nearly topple over were it not for her reflexes when she sees you. A trembling gasp escapes her lips, and seconds later she throws herself at you, burying her face into your neck whilst her arms embrace you. “I thought I would never see you!”
