The silence after the last rehearsal

It’s 2:17 a.m. and the studio is empty, but I can still feel the ghost of the barre in my hands. The air smells like floor wax and old sweat — not unpleasant, just… final. I used to hate how quickly the afternoon collapsed into evening, but now I miss that rhythm. There’s something about the hour before dawn when the world feels like it’s holding its breath. I stood there for ten minutes, just listening. Even the dust particles seem to pause.