“Five minutes,” he muttered.
Callie didn’t pull out a phone or a speaker. Instead, she began to hum, low at first, then layering in rhythm by clapping her hands against her thighs, creating a beat that was surprisingly steady, almost infectious.
“Start here,” she said, tapping her own chest. “Music begins in the ribs. They’re like drums.”
Theo watched her, skeptical but curious.
“Can you clap?” she asked.
He lifted his hands tentatively, bringing them together once, the sound soft.
“Again,” she encouraged, adjusting her tempo to match his.
Adrian stood rigid, scanning the perimeter, half-expecting someone to film the interaction and turn it into a spectacle, but gradually the park noise seemed to recede, replaced by the simple cadence Callie was building.
She swayed exaggeratedly, spinning once on the balls of her dusty feet, then leaning close to Theo. “Your shoulders are bored,” she whispered conspiratorially. “Let’s wake them up.”
She guided his arms outward, not forcing, just suggesting movement, and when he resisted, she exaggerated her own stiffness until he let out a faint, surprised laugh.
