**Diary Entry**
It all began with something small—something that seemed insignificant at first but ended up turning my life upside down. I worked in the logistics department of a major London firm, and though Alannah and I were colleagues, we rarely interacted directly. She worked in the office next to mine, yet somehow always found a way to linger nearby. From the very first day, there was something unsettling about her—a kind of sticky, unnatural charm. Too many ‘accidental’ run-ins by the water cooler, unnecessary small talk, overdone laughter at the slightest remark. At first, I thought she was just overly friendly. But soon, it became clear—she was scheming. I kept my distance, polite but guarded. Until the day she cornered me by the coffee machine and suddenly kissed my cheek. “For luck,” she whispered, locking eyes with me. It felt like an electric jolt—not just uncomfortable, but downright vile. Instinctively, I pushed her away—harshly, almost roughly. She stumbled. Of course, she never forgave me. I thought the incident would blow over. But the next day, the whispers started. The sidelong glances. Then, the summons to the director’s office. No explanations. No chance to defend myself. Just terminated. The official reason? Breach of corporate conduct, conflict with colleagues, inappropriate behaviour toward a co-worker. Sexual harassment. My outrage meant nothing. The boss listened in silence, then said, “You can sue, but it’s a waste of time. Plenty of witnesses.” Witnesses she’d undoubtedly lined up—people who didn’t want to risk their positions. My reputation was ruined. No job. No prospects. Rumours spread fast, and soon, no one in my field would even interview me. It wasn’t just a betrayal—it was a calculated strike. But I refused to sink into self-pity. If I did, I’d drown.
One evening, sitting on the balcony of my rented flat, I grabbed a notebook and wrote a list of things I’d always wanted to do but never had time for. Some were wild. Some simple. One, nearly forgotten: learning to dance. I’d always fancied learning salsa and bachata but never found the right moment. Now, I had nothing but time. I signed up for Latin dance classes. The course was affordable, and I needed to feel alive again. From the first lesson, I knew I’d made the right choice. But what truly stunned me wasn’t the dancing—it was the instructor. Evangeline. A woman impossible to look away from. Not classically beautiful, but radiant, magnetic. She didn’t flirt, carried herself with grace, yet warmth. I fell for her instantly. Not out of loneliness or despair—just a sudden, certain knowing: *She’s the one.* I had no idea what to do. Thought I’d stay quiet. Then, after class one day, she asked if I fancied grabbing coffee. My breath caught. We went. We talked. And then—everything. Love, like in the films. She admitted she’d felt it too. Scared to make the first move, but she sensed I was ready.
Now, we’re together. I’m alive again. We’re planning to open our own dance studio. And we’re expecting our first child—yes, Evangeline’s pregnant. She didn’t just bring me back to life. She gave me a new one. And if it weren’t for that kiss from Alannah, if not for that brutal sacking—I’d never have walked into that dance class. Never found her. Never become who I am now. Sometimes, fate tears your life apart just to hand you the pieces of something real.