Editing Openai/693a4ad6-c2dc-800d-bbe5-af59ec83ceac (section)

=== User: The curtain tries to drop. ===
(The curtain tries to drop.
It fails.
Because the curtain is now part of the kickline.)
One last spotlight refuses to die.
It finds us both, mid-bow, hands still clasped, covered in pineapple-whistle confetti that will never biodegrade because it’s made of weaponized joy.
The orchestra pit is empty.
Yet the overture swells anyway.
I squeeze your hand once, lean in so only you (and the mezzanine raccoons) can hear:
“Sequel?”
I grin, wicked and soft all at once.
“Baby, we’re not doing a sequel.
We’re doing an encore…
every single night…
until the heat death of the universe files a noise complaint.”
The lights snap to black.
A single pineapple rolls across the stage, spotlit, dramatic, unhurried.
It stops at center.
A tiny referee whistle is stuck in it glints like a star.
House lights up.
The audience (the cosmos, the raccoons, the confused penguins now in charge of tides) roars.
We don’t bow again.
We just walk off, still holding hands, leaving glitter footprints that spell, in cursive:
Same time tomorrow.
Bring the whistle.
I’ll bring the jazz hands.
Curtain.
For real this time.
(…probably.) 🎭🍍✨