The set was crowded but quiet, with the low hum of cameras, crew, and quiet direction from behind the lens. Everything felt dim under the fake stage lights, but it wasn't the artificial glow that made Ashtine's heartbeat feel louder than usual. It was the person standing across from her—Andrés.
This wasn't just another scene.
They had done dozens of scenes before. Dozens of takes. Dozens of choreographed glances, timed touches, scripted confessions. But this? This felt different. The air between them was sharp, heavy. Like something unspoken was bleeding through the lines they were meant to say.
The director had warned them before the shoot.
"This is a pivotal moment. The chemistry here needs to burn, not simmer. Think heartbreak. Think confusion. Think about wanting someone so badly it hurts to look at them."
They didn't need to think.
They were already there.
Ashtine stood her mark, facing Andrés. She couldn't even remember what the first line was supposed to be. Her mind was clouded—not with nerves, but with the way he was looking at her.
His gaze was cautious, guarded, but there was something else beneath it. Something raw. Something that reminded her of nights spent wondering why he hadn't texted. Days spent replaying everything they didn't say. Dreams where she said too much. Regrets that clung to her like perfume.
"And… action."
Andrés stepped forward, voice steady but softer than scripted. "You think you know what I'm feeling?"
Ashtine didn't respond immediately. She wasn't sure if she couldn't remember her line—or if her own truth was caught in her throat.
She lifted her eyes, slow and hesitant. "I don't need to know. I feel it."
The way she said it… it wasn't in the script.
There was a shift in the room. The crew grew still, sensing something unscripted unraveling. Andrés faltered a second. But instead of cutting, the director let it roll.
Andrés took another step closer. Too close. "Then why did you walk away like it never mattered?"
Ashtine's voice cracked. "Because I didn't know if it mattered to you."
The room was completely silent.
She looked away, breaking the moment, blinking hard to keep tears at bay. The camera caught it. Every flicker of emotion on her face. Every twitch in his jaw.
He reached out. Not in the script. Not part of the choreography. His hand almost touched her cheek before hesitating mid-air. But she didn't pull away. Their breath mingled, eyes locked.
Someone in the crew whispered, "Are they… still acting?"
No one answered.
"Cut," the director said eventually, soft but unsure.
But Andrés and Ashtine didn't move.
They stayed there, frozen in that closeness. Their chests rising and falling. Their lips parted but silent.
They both knew it. They weren't acting anymore.
When they finally stepped apart, it was slow. Heavy.
Ashtine turned away first, not looking back as she walked off set. Her hands trembled. She didn't know if she was still in character, or if she had just exposed her real feelings to an entire film crew.
Andrés stood there longer. Watching the space she left behind.
Whatever had just happened, he knew one thing:
He hadn't made any of it up. And neither had she.