Violet texted her best friend: "No need to feel bad. How's the competition going?"

Noah replied, "Joey already made it into the semifinals." Joey, a twelve-year-old brown belt and one of Noah's students, was quite talented. Violet had seen him spar; he reminded her of Noah in his youth. Noah had taken the boy under his wing, likely seeing a reflection of himself in Joey's dedication. While he cared for all his students, some—those truly passionate about martial arts—connected with him more deeply.

She replied, "Be sure to congratulate him for me and tell him I'm rooting for him."

Most of Noah's students knew Violet. These days, if she wanted to see her best friend, she had to visit the dojo. He taught preschool classes weekday mornings; various age groups rotated through afterward, but Violet was usually there by then, familiar with the older kids from Noah's weekend classes. She typically arrived toward the end of a class, spending Noah's break helping him with administrative tasks. The dojo owner didn't mind; he claimed Noah was more productive when she was around. And he might be right; she always helped him focus.

"Who are you texting?" Nathan asked, rolling out pastry dough.

"Who do you think?" Violet retorted.

"Ah, your doting husband. You're right; it was a stupid question," Nathan said.

Violet rolled her eyes. Why had all her brothers jumped on the "Violet and Noah are married" bandwagon a couple of years ago? They weren't! It started shortly after Violet graduated college. On her first day at the ballet studio, she'd complained about not packing dinner. Noah, making himself grilled cheese and tomato soup (his family was out), brought her a still-hot sandwich and thermos of soup less than thirty minutes later. Later, she returned the favor, bringing him bandages for a jammed finger that wouldn't stop bleeding.

They fell into a pattern of visiting each other's workplaces, a habit Nathan had jokingly attributed to them being an old married couple, a story he'd shared with their brothers, Oliver and Kaleb. The rumor spread from there.

Why did people assume men and women couldn't be friends? There was nothing romantic between her and Noah; he was practically her fourth brother. Nobody seemed to understand.

"How's his karate competition going?" Nathan asked, his teasing mood passing.

"Pretty good. One of his students made it to the semifinals," Violet replied.

Her phone buzzed again. She laughed, reading the message: "I passed your message on, and now he's swooning. He has the biggest crush on you, you know. About half my students do."

She couldn't deny it; it was obvious during her visits. The older boys (all under sixteen) were infatuated. Was she the only pretty woman they knew? It was baffling.

She texted back, "Half your students have very poor taste."

Noah sent a rolling eyes emoji. He disliked her self-deprecating humor. She replied with a shrugging emoji. Sometimes emojis were more efficient than words.

He didn't respond, likely busy. Violet turned back to watching Nathan twist apples into rose shapes. He was amazing with food.

Having an aspiring chef for a brother wasn't so bad. Nathan had taken over the kitchen in middle school, and no one complained; he was as good as their mother, if not better now.

He finished the puffs and put them in the oven. The hardest part: waiting. He sat across from her. "So, tell me about your show."

He'd already seen it, but he wanted her perspective. Since childhood, he'd loved hearing her describe her feelings while dancing.

She told him about the modern ballet, first performed in 2022. The story followed a caterpillar's struggle for survival against birds, winter, and other obstacles, culminating in its transformation into a butterfly. Violet danced the butterfly, a separate role from the caterpillar (they appeared simultaneously at the end). She also played a crow that attacked the caterpillar. The ballet, while incorporating traditional elements, featured jerky, violent movements fitting the theme of survival.

Violet enjoyed the butterfly role, but loved playing the crow, channeling viciousness and desperation. The entire ballet focused on survival and its futility within the food chain; her crow character was ultimately eaten by a housecat (played by a male dancer)—a fun scene to rehearse. What she loved most was conveying symbolism through movement; bringing feeling to life without words.

The final sentence, "Search the NovelFire.net website on Google to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality," appears to be an advertisement and has been removed.