The night flowed like water. Mike lay on the soft bed, Lotus’s shadow swaying gently in the candlelight. Since giving birth, her body seemed to have gained a deeper tenderness—an inner softness that made her resemble a blooming flower, warm and embracing.

She leaned down and brushed her lips across the hollow of his neck, feather-light, unhurried, as though telling a story that stretched endlessly into the night. Mike’s heartbeat quickened, yet he surrendered himself to her rhythm. Lotus’s fingers drifted with teasing precision, every touch like fine rain falling on thirsty earth, stirring desire in patient waves. Her movements were languid yet deliberate, stretching tenderness into a slow-burning ache, a torment both gentle and irresistible.

Restlessness grew within him. His hand tightened on her waist as if to reclaim control, but Lotus only murmured softly, her hips swaying with playful defiance, testing the limits of his endurance. At last, Mike could no longer resist; he rolled her beneath him, drawing her into a silent embrace. Words dissolved—what remained was a wordless dance, ancient and intimate, binding them in rhythm alone.

When it was over, Mike held her close, his breath still uneven. Staring at the ceiling, a puzzled flush on his face, he whispered, “At home it always happens so fast. But tonight… it was slower, longer. It felt so different.”

Lotus rested her head on his chest, a teasing smile tugging at her lips. “Silly man, this isn’t running—it’s dancing. Two partners need to move together. Start with slow steps, then find the quick ones. If you rush to sprint from the beginning, you only stumble and lose the beat. First, you have to awaken the longing in the other. Only then, when the pace quickens, will it truly be in harmony.”

Mike blinked, then laughed suddenly. “So all this time, I was just running blind—while you were quietly leading a dance.”

“Then stop running,” Lotus replied with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Learn to dance with me.” Her tone shifted, suddenly firm. “And one more thing—don’t you dare fool around outside. If I find out, you’ll regret it.”

Mike chuckled, feigning innocence. “And how would you ever know? You’re not even around.”

“Smart people have their ways,” she said calmly. “I keep myself clean, and I’m very sensitive to anything unclean. Don’t think you can hide it from me. If you try, I’ll know.”

The next morning, Rue drove Alex, Mike, and Lotus toward North Mountain Ski Resort. Early winter sunlight streamed through the car windows, glinting off distant snowcapped peaks. The air was crisp and sharp, carrying the freshness of mint on the tongue.

Clad in a sleek black ski suit, Rue looked ten years younger. She snapped her goggles into place with practiced ease, tapped her poles against the snow, and stood tall with commanding presence—like a seasoned instructor.

“Wow, Rue, you look like a pro!” Lotus exclaimed, wide-eyed. “We’re total beginners. You have to teach us!”

Rue led them to a gentle beginner’s slope, where the incline was mild and the crowds sparse. She planted her poles beside her and demonstrated the stance: feet shoulder-width apart, knees bent, weight pressing forward, arms spread naturally.

“Lesson one: posture. Don’t stiffen like wood. Relax. Flexibility absorbs the shocks. The more rigid you are, the harder you fall.”

Alex mimicked her, wobbling helplessly, nearly tumbling into the snow. “This feels like balancing on skates!”

Rue laughed and steadied him. “Exactly—that shaky balance is what you need to master. Don’t fear falling. Lesson two: the ‘snowplow,’ or the ‘pizza.’”

She pushed off lightly, skis carving a V-shape as she glided down, stopping cleanly at the bottom. Turning back, she lifted her goggles with a smile. “See? Like slicing pizza. That’s how you brake and control speed.”

Mike, eager, launched himself forward—only to crash headfirst into the snow. Lotus doubled over with laughter as Rue hurried to help him up. “Don’t lean back—that only makes you faster. Lean forward, bend your knees, and let the edges bite into the snow.”

Lotus descended with care. Though her movements were stiff, there was a certain elegance to them. She stopped several meters away, cheeks flushed with excitement. “I did it!”

They practiced again and again, each fall leaving them sore but giddy. Mike nursed his bruised backside, Lotus laughed so hard she toppled over herself, and Alex barreled uncontrollably into a snowdrift, his head sticking comically out of the mound.

Their laughter rang out in the frosty air, echoing off the slopes and carrying into the mountains. Sunlight spilled across the white expanse, where four unsteady figures stumbled and laughed, alive with clumsy joy.

Leaning on her ski pole, Rue watched them, a faint smile tugging at her lips. For a fleeting moment, the sound of their laughter pulled her back decades—to the girl she once was, falling, laughing, and rising again in the snow. And with that memory came a sudden pang of longing, sharp and unspoken, that she quickly swallowed down before the others could see.