I signed up for a dance class because I was tired of feeling numb. I had not touched anyone beyond a handshake in months. The first classes were awkward. My feet felt heavy, my mind louder than the music. I counted steps, worried how I looked, braced for judgment that never came. Slowly, something shifted. The rhythm moved through me. My shoulders softened. I noticed the warmth of a hand guiding me into a turn, the steadiness of someone matching my pace. Nothing dramatic. Just contact. One night, under low lights and a slow song, I realized I was not thinking. I was feeling. The floor. My pulse. My breath. Dance did not fix my life. It reminded me I was still inside it.