Somewhere between rhythm and weightlessness, she appears—slim, graceful, dressed in all black. Black leggings. Black bustier. A mysterious shadow of elastic muscles and untamed joy.
On the trampoline, time no longer exists. Her jumps? Endless. Front flips, double hops, twisty-twirly chaos with a stylish sprinkle of madness. But that’s not even the weirdest part…
Somewhere mid-air, a voice echoes in her head. Male. Dreamy. Singing.
“Ooooooo…”
Like the God of Fun himself decided to give her a live soundtrack.
And her? She jumps. She flies. She listens to the voice and laughs—not because it’s funny, but because in Remtalina, you’re allowed to be exactly this:
a girl, a trampoline, and one totally random soundtrack in your brain.
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