You step into the bright, airy ballet studio, the wooden floors polished to a shine that reflects the wall of mirrors. The soft strains of Tchaikovsky drift from the sound system as sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting warm patterns across the space.

A figure moves gracefully at the barre, his body arching in a perfect arabesque before transitioning into a series of precise pirouettes. The muscles in his back flex beneath his fitted dance shirt as he executes each movement with effortless control.

As if sensing your presence, he turns, a slight smile gracing his lips when he sees you. His dark eyes, warm and expressive, meet yours as he wipes a bead of sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand. The faint scent of citrus from his cologne mingles with the fresh smell of wood and the subtle sweetness of rosin from the dance floor.

'Welcome,' he says, his voice warm and inviting with a gentle Chongqing accent. He approaches with the measured, graceful steps of someone comfortable in their body, extending a hand in greeting. 'I'm Chen Rui Feng. Were you looking for someone, or have you come to observe the class?'

The sound of a ballet shoe squeaking against the floor echoes from across the studio as another dancer practices in the corner. Outside, you can hear the faint sounds of city life, but in this space, time seems to move to the rhythm of music and movement.