Chapter two: The sky of Havana

The silence in the Le Fang house was never truly silent. It was filled with the ghost of a metronome’s tick and the faint, lingering scent of Santiago’s cigars. Downstairs, the tension of the dinner table still hung in the air like heavy smoke, but on the roof, the air was thin, cold, and smelled of coming rain.

Nico sat on the edge of the brick parapet, his legs dangling over the dizzying drop to the street below. In the dark, he wasn't the arrogant technical powerhouse of the National Dance Academy; he was just a nineteen-year-old boy with a name that felt too heavy to carry. He didn't sob out loud—De Anyas were taught that discipline was a shield—but the tears tracked hot, silent paths down his face, blurring the city lights into smears of gold and red.

In the kitchen below, Lucas placed a gentle hand on Santiago’s arm, his voice barely a breath. "He’s gone again. Santiago, go to him."

Santiago looked at the ceiling, his jaw tight. He didn't need to ask where. "Lo sé," he murmured. "I know."

He grabbed a wool coat and made his way up the narrow service stairs. He knew the instinct well. In Havana, when the walls of a house felt like they were shrinking, you went to the roof. You went to the place where the wind could reach you and the sky felt wide enough to hold the secrets you couldn't tell the four walls of a room.

When Santiago pushed open the heavy, rusted roof door, the sound of a slow, mournful Bolero was already drifting through the air from Nico’s phone, tinny and sad against the wind.

Nico wasn't sitting anymore. He was dancing.

It wasn't a dance for a judge or a crowd. It was slow, grounded, and agonizingly private. His arms were held in a phantom frame, as if he were holding a ghost. Every step was deliberate, a conversation in Spanish with the shadows of Mary and his father. His body swayed with the rhythmic ache of a man trying to remember a touch he hadn't felt since he was thirteen.

Santiago stayed in the doorway, his heart twisting. He saw his sister, Mary, in the sharp tilt of Nico’s head; he saw his brother-in-law in the stubborn strength of the boy's shoulders.

"Nico," Santiago said softly, stepping into the moonlight.

Nico didn't stop, but his frame shuddered, his heels clicking sharply against the gravel-dusted roof. "Vete, Tío," he choked out, his voice thick and raw. "Go away."

"A Cuban never tells another Cuban to stop dancing on a roof," Santiago replied, his voice steady and warm, grounding the boy's spiraling grief. "We both know this is the only place where the air feels right."

Inside the House

Two floors below, Yuki sat at her desk, her textbooks open to a page on anatomy she hadn't read in thirty minutes. She could hear the faint, rhythmic thud-thud of feet on the roof above her head.

Usually, that sound made her roll her eyes. Usually, it meant Nico was drilling his footwork, trying to be better than her even in his sleep. But tonight, the rhythm was different. It was slow. It was heavy. It sounded like a heartbeat slowing down.

She leaned her forehead against the cool glass of her window, looking out at the dark trees. For the first time, the anger she felt toward him—the resentment of his sharp comments and his icy perfection—was being replaced by a hollow, aching realization.

She had two fathers who loved her, who coached her, who were there to catch her when she stumbled. Nico had a room full of framed photos and a surname that acted like a ghost, haunting him every time he stepped onto the floor.

She realized then that Nico wasn’t trying to beat her just to be the best. He was trying to win so that he wouldn't disappear entirely. He was fighting to stay visible to parents who couldn't see him anymore.

The "Mirrored Wall" between them wasn't just made of glass; it was made of grief. And for the first time, Yuki didn't want to break it—she wanted to reach through it.

Santiago didn’t say another word. He didn’t try to lecture him or pull him into a hug that he knew the boy would reject. Instead, he stepped into the space beside Nico, mirroring his posture.

Santiago began to move. He followed the slow, dragging rhythm of the Bolero, his steps heavy and grounded. It was the "Old School" style—the way they used to dance in the plazas of Havana when the world felt too small.

For a moment, they danced separately, two silhouettes against the city skyline. But then, Santiago reached out his hand, offering a frame. It wasn't the rigid, competitive frame of a coach; it was the open, steady support of a man who had carried his own share of ghosts.

Nico hesitated, his breath hitching in his chest. Then, slowly, he placed his hand in Santiago’s.

The moment their palms touched, the dam finally broke.

Nico’s feet stumbled. His frame collapsed. He leaned his forehead against Santiago’s shoulder, his fingers gripping the wool of his uncle’s coat so hard his knuckles turned white. And there, under the indifferent stars, Nico began to sob.

It was a sound Santiago hadn't heard since the day of the funeral. Back then, at the cemetery, Nico had stood like a soldier, his eyes dry and his jaw locked, refusing to let a single tear fall for the "De Anya" name. He had been thirteen, acting like a man of thirty.

But now, he was just a boy who missed his mother.

"Déjalo salir, Nico," Santiago whispered, his own voice thick with emotion as he held his nephew steady. "Let it out. You’ve been holding your breath for six years. You cannot dance if you cannot breathe."

Nico’s shoulders shook with the weight of everything he had tried to bury: the cold house, the empty seat at the table, the crushing pressure to be perfect so his parents wouldn't be forgotten. For the first time, he wasn't a rival or a technical powerhouse. He was just a son, grieving in the arms of the only man who truly understood the rhythm of his blood.

Above them, the wind picked up, carrying the salt of the Atlantic and the faint, distant music of the city, but for a long time, the only sound on the roof was the ragged breathing of a boy finally letting go of the ghost

***Download NovelToon to enjoy a better reading experience!***