Forrest wandered aimlessly through the mall, letting his steps guide him more than his thoughts. It was one of those lazy afternoons---no obligations, no real destination---just time to kill and nowhere pressing to be.

As he turned a corner near the food court, something unusual caught his eye. A new booth had appeared, tucked between a frozen yogurt stand and a small pop-up selling phone cases. The sign above the booth, printed in swirly pink letters, read:

"Ballerina Training"

Forrest blinked. He tilted his head slightly and chuckled under his breath. Huh. It didn’t look like a dancewear shop, and it certainly didn’t resemble anything serious. Maybe it was a novelty thing. Still, the name alone was enough to pique his curiosity.

Just as he stepped closer, the curtain to the booth fluttered and a man in his early thirties stumbled out. He looked disoriented, his brow furrowed and his posture off, like he’d been walking on tiptoes for too long. Forrest accidentally bumped into him.

“Excuse me,” the man muttered, clearly still shaking something off.

“No problem,” Forrest replied instinctively, glancing at the man’s oddly graceful gait as he shuffled away.

That made Forrest pause. A man had come out. That broke whatever gender assumptions had flickered through Forrest’s mind. Not that he was planning on trying anything, but it made him all the more curious.

He stared at the booth again. There was no line, no staff visible, just the curtain and that ridiculous sign. Ballerina Training. What could that even mean in a mall booth?