Parallel Lives | BBANGSAZ

S E V E N

H A N N I
—

My entire body gives up as soon as Madame Mina turns off the music after six and a half hours of intense training. My ass hits the floor, and I lean my back against the white wall, feeling like I'm about to throw up. My body feels like it's on fire, and I do my best to ignore it. I'm the last one to leave the studio—Madame lets everyone go early, except me because she believes in me, and apparently, I can do more. I probably can, but dancing seven days a week, six to eight hours per day without even a break is exhausting. You might think I'd be used to this by now, given that I've been doing this since I was a toddler, but nope, my entire body feels like it's on fire.

My gaze follows Madame Mina as she unties her blonde hair, soft curls falling down her back after she brushes it with her hands. She's wearing yoga pants and a tank top, like she always is. I admire her, really.

She's in her mid-thirties and looks like someone my age. Mina Myoui goes to the gym every morning, two hours a day, to keep that figure. I know that because she makes me follow the same routine she does, but as I'm getting my career started, I go to the gym after my classes.

"Tired?" her voice echoes in the empty and quiet studio.

I shake my head. "I'm fine." I lie. I'm trying really hard to tell my heart to calm down; it feels like it's about to burst out of my chest.

Madame Mina chuckles, locking her hazel eyes on me. "I'm really proud of you, Hanni. You have real talent—you're going to take over the world, you know that, right?"

I don't know if I want that, I want to say, but instead, I nod, and she keeps going. "Dancing is your life. This is your life. I'm only doing all of this because of you. I want to see you at the top of the world, just like I was. You deserve that. You're going to be a mini-me." She kneels in front of me, and her lips curve into a creepy smile.

"Lock the door when you leave, okay? And try to stop eating so many carbs. You have a costume to fit into—you're getting fat." She wrinkles her nose, looking down at my body, and I feel my cheeks heating up.

She leaves me completely alone in the dance studio, and I look at the floor-to-ceiling mirrors, checking my figure. Do I look fat? Have I put on weight? I don't think so. I shouldn't have. I don't even remember the last time I ate real food.

I stand up, placing my bag over my shoulder and taking a sip from my water bottle as I keep staring at the mirror. I look nice—I know I'm beautiful, and I'm perfect in some way, but somehow, Madame Mina's words make an impact on my brain, distorting my own view. I let my hair fall down my back, making it dance with my wavy curls. I don't remember the last time I danced with my hair down.

I can't figure out when the last time was that I had fun dancing and didn't feel like I was dying.

My body burns—I can't feel my feet, and as much as I used to love this pain, right now it feels uncomfortable. The clock on my smartwatch says it's six-thirty pm, and I've been here since noon after my three classes.

I make my way to the park across the street after closing the studio. Madame gave me my own key just in case I wanted to come and dance whenever I liked. I hug myself with my winter coat, feeling the breeze freezing up my face and legs. People come and go in front of me, and I like that no one is paying attention to me. I sit down under a tree, a little away from all the people, and I hug my legs to my chest, feeling kind of small and alone.

I should be making my way to the gym next door instead of stopping to rest. Having time to rest is not in my vocabulary. You can sleep at night! Madame's voice fills my brain, making me shake my head to tune it out.