The crowd was thinning. Light shifted from gold to copper. The pool drain gurgled. I stood in the middle of the general area, a small silver bell now hanging from my Y-back straps, its pale gold surface glowing in the sunset. The lightest movement produced a faint tinkle—someone far away shaking a tiny bell. The gear had been switched out. Over the white bikini, a transparent cover-up; my ash-blonde ponytail fluttered. When the sea breeze blew, the bell chimed softly. Dianzi's pendant remained the pearl-white shell.
Dianzi held up her phone, the floating interface lit, livestream activating with a faint blue glow.
"Today, this girl here will teach basic belly dance hand gestures." I raised both hands to my chest, palms facing outward, wrists rotating from inside to out. My silver bracelet slid along my wrist bone as it turned. "Don't stiffen your fingers. Imagine you're paddling through water."
[chat] Here we are
[chat] Finally, a tutorial
[chat] Wifey's hands are so pretty ✨
[chat] The wrist rotation is so elegant
I slowed down. Right wrist traced the circle, the bracelet catching the sunset with each turn, and at the circle's end my fingertips flicked outward—light, like droplets flicked from the surface of water. Left hand mirrored it. When both wrists turned together, the bell chimed—crisp, echoing across the empty pool.
"Next, the fingertip flick. Like this." I flicked each finger out, index to pinky, then drew them back, tracing five delicate arcs.
"Then coordinate with hips. Simple: left, right." Each push landed on a breath. The bell chimed softly.
Dianzi zoomed in. I repeated the sequence twice, even slower.
"Got it memorized? Wrists rotate, fingertips flick, hips follow."
——She smiled. Only for a second, but it was enough.
Dianzi lowered the phone and stepped closer. "Sister, this girl's fingers aren't right."
She raised her hands, wrists rotating—but her fingers were stiff, curled inward.
"Not like that." I moved behind her, pressing my chest to her back, my arms reaching around to cover her hands with mine. The warmth of her skin came through the thin straps. I took her fingers one by one—index, middle, ring, pinky—gently prying them open. "Fingertips spread. Not a fist. Let the air pass between them."
Her fingers loosened under mine. Together, we traced a circle, wrists turning, my bracelet sliding against her skin. The bell at my back chimed. Hers was silent.
"Again. This time on your own."
She turned to face me, and we stood opposite each other. Wrists rotating from inside to out. The bell chimed as I turned—then hers, faintly, as she caught the rhythm. We repeated. Wrist circles, fingertips flicking. The bell sounded, then paused, then sounded again—broken chimes, like someone learning to ring a bell for the first time. Our bracelets caught the light alternately.
"Better."
"Again?"
"Again."
We practiced until our wrists ached, the bell's chime growing steadier with each turn.
A figure came into view. The young mother stood from her spot against the wall, child in her arms, bag hanging. She walked a few steps toward us, stopping three paces away. Her dress still bore that coffee stain, now darker, edges dry. The child's face nestled against her shoulder, tiny hands gripping her collar even in sleep.
"Heading off?"
"Mm. He's getting sleepy." She glanced down, then up. Her cracked lower lip caught as she hesitated. "Thank you. For making me feel there are still people willing to listen."
She smiled—brief, the lines at her eyes squeezing out, deepened by the sunset.
"Take care."
She turned. After two steps, looked back, then kept walking. The bag swayed with the last two diapers, white packaging catching the light. Her silhouette stretched long.
I rummaged in my bag. My fingers brushed something fuzzy—a rubber mouse tumbled out, rolling two circles to stop where she'd stood. Gray body, pink ears, black eyes, a tiny wheel on its belly.
"Oh dear, this girl's little pet has escaped."
I crouched, pressing a button on its back. The mouse squeaked—a sharp, short electronic sound bouncing off the tiled walls.
She turned.
I held the mouse up, shaking it. It wobbled in my palm, black eyes reflecting the sunset. "This girl's pet doesn't bite. It just squeaks. Doesn't it sound like the interview notification on your phone?"
I pressed again. A longer squeak this time, quivering in the air.
Her mouth twitched—not quite a smile. "It does sound kind of similar."
"Next time you hear that sound, don't be nervous. Just think of it as this girl's pet saying hello."
She looked at the mouse for two seconds, then turned and left. No backward glance. But after a few steps, she paused, head tilted slightly, the setting sun tracing gold along her profile. Her lips moved silently. Then she walked on.
I stood, dusting my hands.
[chat] Wifey is so good at comforting people 💕
[chat] That mouse is so cute
[chat] PTSD from the interview notification sound
[chat] This idea is brilliant
The pool had nearly emptied—a few children still splashing, mothers on the edge, heads bent over phones. Sunlight broke through the clouds, dyeing the water warm orange. I walked to the poolside and dipped my hand in. The water was warm from a full day of sun. Ripples spread outward, hit the wall, and returned fainter each time.
Dianzi crouched beside me, her reflection rippling. "Sister, will she tell anyone about today?"
"No."
"Why?"
"She doesn't want anyone to know she came here. Listening to dancing girls by the pool—that's a luxury. People don't broadcast luxuries. It becomes a burden. They'd tell her she should've sent out more résumés."
I stood, retying my cover-up. The gauze clung, chilled. Dianzi tucked the squirrel into her bag, tail poking out.
"Back to change."
"Sister, you didn't take off the bell."
I reached back—still there, tinkling at my touch. "Leave it. Tomorrow, when we change."
We crossed the pool area past the VIP glass. The setting sun cast our long shadows. Loungers still empty, number tags gleaming gold. Water droplet marks on the chair where the seagull had perched.
The corridor draft was cooler now. Sea breeze through the porthole, carrying waves. I walked half a step ahead, ponytail swaying; she lagged behind, her bun loosening, stray strands floating.
Dianzi aimed the camera back at me, the corner of her mouth curving. The chat still scrolled. At the pool exit, her silhouette had already vanished—only the corner of her bag flashing once.
"That's all for today." The floating interface dimmed. Livestream off.
Back in the room, I sat by the window, ear threads faint in the dimness. Outside, the sea had sunk from warm orange to gray-blue, a sliver of pale gold narrowing at the skyline—like someone drawing a curtain closed.
Dianzi leaned against my shoulder. She didn't speak. The first navigation light flickered on—red, blinking. We sat quietly for a very long time.