The Dance

The Invitation

The wedding was a small, intimate affair, set in a charming country inn that seemed frozen in time, with wooden beams and old stone walls. Maranda and Joe had chosen this venue for its quiet beauty, a sanctuary far from the urban chaos where they lived. The guest list was exclusive — just close family and friends who had been there through it all.

Among the guests was Michelle, a childhood friend of Maranda's. Though their paths had diverged over the years, Maranda had insisted on inviting her, holding onto the memories of their once-close bond. Michelle had been reluctant; weddings weren't her scene. She disliked the crowds, the forced cheerfulness, and the pressure to socialize. But Maranda's heartfelt invitation was impossible to decline.

Dressed in a simple green dress that highlighted her auburn hair, Michelle arrived alone. The venue was as enchanting as Maranda had described, with ivy crawling up the walls and fairy lights twinkling like distant stars. The air was thick with the fragrance of roses and lavender, and the soft strains of classical music floated through the space.

As Michelle mingled, she offered polite congratulations to the bride and groom. Maranda was radiant, her happiness almost tangible. Joe was handsome but reserved, and the love between them was palpable in their shared glances.

As the evening wore on, Michelle found herself drawn to a quiet corner, away from the chatter and laughter. She observed the other guests, feeling more like an outsider than a participant. She wondered if coming had been a mistake.

Then she noticed him.

The Stranger

He was standing by the bar, his back to her. Something about his posture caught her attention — he was tall, with broad shoulders and dark hair that had begun to show traces of gray. His suit was well-tailored, but there was a casual air about him, as if he wasn't quite comfortable in it.

Michelle watched as he ordered a drink. When he turned back, she got a better look at him. He was older, perhaps by a decade, but there was a youthful energy in his eyes that belied his age. Yet, there was also a sadness, a weariness that intrigued her.

Their eyes met, and Michelle quickly looked away, embarrassed. But when she glanced back, he was still looking at her, a faint smile tugging at his lips.

He approached, drink in hand, and Michelle felt a flutter of nerves. She wasn't used to being approached by strangers, especially not at weddings.

"Hello," he said, his voice deep and warm. "I'm Howie."

"Michelle," she replied, her voice barely steady.

"Friend of the bride or groom?" he asked.

"The bride," Michelle answered. "We were close when we were kids, but life got in the way."

Howie nodded. "Joe and I go way back. We worked together, and he's one of the few I've kept in touch with over the years."

Their conversation flowed easily, surprising Michelle. Howie had a way of making her feel comfortable, as if they'd known each other longer than a few minutes. They talked about the wedding, their connections to the couple, and the charm of the venue.

As the night continued, they moved from the quiet corner to the bar, and eventually to the edge of the dance floor, though neither of them danced. They simply stood, watching the other guests twirl and sway to the music.

"Do you dance?" Howie asked, a teasing smile on his lips.

"Not really," Michelle admitted. "I'm more of a wallflower."

"Same here," Howie said. "But there's something nice about watching others, don't you think?"

Michelle nodded. "It's like they're in their own little world."

"Exactly," Howie agreed. "Like they're telling a story without words."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, watching the dancers. Then Howie turned to her, his expression more serious.

"Do you ever wonder about the stories we don't tell?" he asked.

Michelle frowned, unsure of his meaning. "What do you mean?"

"The things we keep to ourselves," Howie explained. "The words we never say. Do you ever wonder what would happen if we did?"

Michelle looked at him, feeling a mix of curiosity and apprehension. There was something in his eyes, something that suggested a deeper meaning behind his words. She felt an urge to ask him what he wasn't saying, but hesitated, unsure if she was ready to hear it.

Before she could respond, Joe called out to Howie, waving him over with a grin.

"Looks like the groom needs me," Howie said, his tone lightening. "But it was nice talking to you, Michelle. Maybe I'll see you again before the night's over."

"Maybe," Michelle replied, though she wasn't sure if she believed it.

She watched as Howie walked away, feeling a strange sense of loss. Something about their conversation had stirred something in her, something she couldn't quite define.

The Dance

The night wore on, with more drinks, more laughter, and more dancing. Michelle drifted from one conversation to another, but her mind kept returning to Howie. She scanned the room for him, but he always seemed to be on the other side, surrounded by other guests.

As the evening wound down, she found herself back in her quiet corner, watching the last few couples on the dance floor. The music had slowed to a soft, romantic tune, and the guests were beginning to leave, the dance floor nearly empty.

She was about to slip away when she felt a tap on her shoulder. She turned to see Howie standing there, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Care for one last dance?" he asked, holding out his hand.

Michelle hesitated, her heart racing. She wasn't a dancer, and she didn't want to embarrass herself. But something in Howie's gaze made her want to take the risk.

"Okay," she said, placing her hand in his.

He led her onto the dance floor, his hand resting lightly on her waist. Michelle felt a wave of nerves, but Howie's touch was gentle, reassuring. He guided her through the steps, moving slowly to the music.

As they danced, Michelle felt herself relax, the tension melting away. She let herself be carried by the music and Howie's presence. They moved together in perfect sync, as if they'd been dancing together for years.

Michelle looked up at Howie, and for the first time, she saw past the surface. She saw the weariness in his eyes, the sadness he tried to conceal. And she saw something else — something that made her heart ache with longing.

She didn't know how long they danced, but it felt both like an eternity and a fleeting moment. When the music ended, Howie didn't let go. He held her close, his gaze locked on hers.

"There's something I need to tell you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Michelle felt her breath catch. She knew, somehow, that whatever he was about to say would change everything.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice trembling.

Howie hesitated, struggling to find the words. Then he sighed, looking away.

"I... I don't think I can say it," he said, his voice tinged with regret. "Not now. Not here."

Michelle felt a pang of disappointment, but she didn't push him. She could see that whatever he was holding back was too much for this moment.

"It's okay," she said, her voice steady. "You don't have to say anything."

Howie looked at her, his eyes filled with gratitude and sorrow. "Thank you, Michelle," he said softly. "For this dance. For everything."

He stepped back, letting go of her hand, and Michelle felt a cold emptiness where his warmth had been. She watched him disappear into the crowd, leaving her alone on the dance floor.

The Morning After

The next morning, Michelle woke early, the memories of the previous night vivid in her mind. She couldn't stop thinking about Howie, about their dance, and the words he hadn't spoken. A strange mix of emotions swirled within her — regret, longing, and something else she couldn't name.

As she dressed and packed, she couldn't shake the feeling that she'd missed something important, something she might never get back.

Downstairs, the dining room was nearly empty. Most of the guests had already left. Michelle scanned the room, half-hoping, half-dreading that she might see Howie, but he was nowhere in sight.

She took a seat by the window and poured herself a cup of coffee, trying to dispel the lingering sadness. Outside, the morning sun bathed the garden in golden light, but everything felt distant, like a dream.

As she sipped her coffee, Maranda appeared, still glowing with happiness. She spotted Michelle and joined her.

"Michelle! I'm so glad you're still here," Maranda said, sitting down. "How are you?"

"I'm good," Michelle said, forcing a smile. "The wedding was beautiful. You and Joe looked so happy."

Maranda beamed. "Thank you. It was perfect. But what about you? Did you have a good time?"

Michelle hesitated. She didn't want to dampen Maranda's joy, so she nodded. "I did. It was nice to see everyone."

Maranda's eyes twinkled. "I noticed you talking to Howie last night. How did that go?"

Michelle's heart skipped at the mention of his name. "We talked. He's a nice guy."

"He is," Maranda said, her tone softening. "But he's been through a lot. Joe told me a bit about it. Howie's had a rough few years."

Michelle's curiosity piqued. "What happened?"

Maranda leaned in, her voice low. "His wife passed away.

The Revelation

Michelle's heart dropped at Maranda's words. She hadn't expected this. The sadness she had sensed in Howie now made sense, and it stirred a deep empathy within her.

"I'm so sorry," Michelle whispered, more to herself than to Maranda.

"Yeah," Maranda continued, her expression somber. "It was about two years ago. Joe says he hasn't really been the same since. Howie was always the life of the party, you know? But now... well, you saw him."

Michelle nodded, recalling the sadness in Howie's eyes, the way he seemed to carry a weight that no one else could see. "He mentioned something about stories we don't tell," she said quietly, almost to herself.

Maranda gave her a curious look. "Stories we don't tell?"

"Yeah, like the things we keep to ourselves," Michelle explained. "I didn't really understand what he meant at the time, but now... I think I do."

Maranda nodded thoughtfully. "I suppose he's been keeping a lot to himself. Maybe talking to you was good for him."

Michelle wanted to believe that, but she wasn't sure. The connection she had felt with Howie the night before was undeniable, but it was also fleeting, fragile. She couldn't help but wonder what might have happened if they'd had more time, if he'd been able to say whatever was on his mind.

"Are you going to stay in touch with him?" Maranda asked, her tone casual but her eyes watchful.

Michelle hesitated, unsure how to answer. "I don't know. I didn't get his number or anything."

Maranda smiled knowingly. "Well, if you change your mind, I can always get it from Joe."

Michelle smiled back, but the uncertainty lingered. She wasn't sure what she wanted, or if reaching out to Howie would even be the right thing to do. But a part of her — a small, hopeful part — wanted to see him again, to learn more about the man behind the sadness.

The Departure

After breakfast, Michelle said her goodbyes to Maranda and Joe. The couple was still glowing with post-wedding bliss, their joy infectious even through Michelle's lingering melancholy. As she hugged Maranda, she felt a pang of regret for the years they'd lost touch, but also a renewed determination to stay close.

As she walked to her car, Michelle felt the weight of the previous night settle on her shoulders. She had come to the wedding expecting nothing more than a polite evening, but she was leaving with so much more — questions, feelings, and the faint echo of a connection that might have been.

She climbed into her car, but before starting the engine, she took out her phone. She stared at it for a long moment, her thumb hovering over the screen.

Should she ask Maranda for Howie's number? Should she leave it to fate and hope their paths crossed again?

Or should she let it go, accepting that some stories, like Howie's, were meant to remain untold?

With a deep breath, Michelle made her decision. She typed out a quick message to Maranda, asking her for Howie's contact information. She hit send before she could second-guess herself.

As she started the car and pulled out of the inn's gravel driveway, Michelle felt a sense of both trepidation and hope. She didn't know what would come of reaching out to Howie — whether it would lead to friendship, something more, or simply closure. But she knew that not trying would leave her with a far heavier burden than the uncertainty she felt now.

The countryside rolled past her as she drove, the early morning light casting long shadows across the road. Michelle's thoughts were consumed by the memory of Howie's sad smile, the warmth of his hand in hers, and the words he hadn't been able to say.

For the first time in a long while, Michelle felt like her story might be just beginning. And perhaps, in time, Howie might find the courage to share his as well.