Clara twirled through the town square, her bright red and yellow skirt flashing across the cobblestones. The birds paused mid-song to watch as her dress caught the sunlight.
She offered her hand to the baker first, who was sweeping flour into a pile. But Clara kept dancing anyway, her shuffling feet kicking little clouds of white dust into the air.
Clara tried the girl with the balloons next, but the girl just bounced away giggling, her orange and blue balloons bobbing like bright fruit on strings.
Alone now, Clara spun faster, hopping from stone to stone. Tap, tap, tap — the cobblestones rang like tiny bells beneath her dancing shoes.
A man passing by dropped his newspaper and clapped once, twice. Then he hurried on, still smiling over his shoulder.
Just then, a tall man with a violin case stepped onto the square. "Dance with me?" he asked, holding out his hand.
Clara giggled and took his hand. Together they twirled under the warm sun, her skirt painting loops of color in the golden air.
They danced until their cheeks were pink and the streetlamps glowed orange. Clara curtseyed, breathless and smiling, as the whole square watched.
The violinist's instrument hummed a low, sweet note, and Clara's skirt settled into a happy stillness.
The square had never looked so bright, or felt so alive. Clara smiled at the stars beginning to appear above the rooftops.
The baker swept his flour into a neat pile, the girl with the balloons bounced happily on her heels, and even the passerby returned to clap again.
Clara bowed again, and the violinist played a final note. The square held its breath, then cheered — and the night sang with them.