Sloane’s POV
Finally, my lunch break is here. I had already negotiated with the manager for an hour’s lunch today, and it was agreed. The destination mall was unusually quiet for a Saturday afternoon, but my heart was hammering against my ribs hard enough to drown out the low hum of the crowd when I glance at the display window.
A pair of pale pink pointe shoes rests on a small stand, their satin ribbons curled neatly. Beneath them, a simple sign advertises beginner ballet classes, and my eyes remain fixed on the shoes.
I can almost feel the familiar pressure of satin against my toes, the hard box beneath them, the ache that used to settle into my feet after hours of practice. But I look away before the memories could take hold, then stop dead in the middle of the walkway, my eyes locke
