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Chapter 20 - Reunion in Slow Motion

The day was unusually quiet.

Ashtine stood backstage in the far end of the performance hall, her arms folded tightly against her chest. Her eyes scanned the narrow hallway outside the dressing rooms, but she wasn't looking for anyone in particular. Or maybe she was. The walls were covered in posters for the film's official premiere, all of them polished and dramatic. One in particular—the shot of her and Andres standing back-to-back under a canopy of red rose petals—had been reposted endlessly by fans over the last few days.

Now it was real. The premiere was tonight. Their movie was about to go public.

And they hadn't spoken a word since that rooftop kiss.

That kiss. That kiss that still haunted her. She had played it over and over in her mind like a scene she couldn't edit out. But this wasn't fiction. This wasn't a take two. She had kissed him—and then walked away. Again.

She couldn't decide if she regretted it or not. Her emotions had been a mess ever since. She couldn't sleep properly. Couldn't eat much. Couldn't even rehearse lines without her lips remembering the shape of his. It was ridiculous.

She didn't even know if he'd be here.

"Ashtine."

Her head snapped up. The voice was low, soft, almost too careful.

Andres.

He was dressed sharply in black—classic, effortless, the way he always looked at premieres—but his eyes were the same. Nervous. Quiet. Wounded. He walked slowly toward her like he wasn't sure if he was allowed to.

"You came," she said quietly, barely above a whisper.

His lips tugged into the faintest smile. "You sound surprised."

"I wasn't sure after last time."

A pause. Then he stepped beside her. Close enough to smell the familiar scent of his cologne but not close enough to touch.

"I wasn't sure either," he admitted.

She swallowed hard. Her throat was dry. The hallway felt warmer suddenly.

"Why did you?" she asked.

"I think I had to."

His words were gentle, but they made her breath hitch. She turned toward him, ready to say something—anything—but he was already looking at her.

"I keep thinking about that night," he said softly.

Her cheeks flushed. "So do I."

His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second. Then back to her eyes.

"It didn't feel like a mistake," he continued. "But I also don't know what it means."

"I don't either," she whispered.

There was a long silence. Neither of them looked away this time.

"I think that's okay," Andres finally said. "I think we don't need to name it right now."

She nodded slowly. Her heart was beating too loud. The hallway felt suffocating. Still, she didn't move.

"I missed you," she admitted.

His face changed then. Something broke and softened all at once.

"Me too," he said. "Every day."

He took a step forward.

"I waited," he added, voice shaking now. "I waited even when I thought you'd never come back."

Ashtine blinked quickly. "I waited too."

And that was all it took.

He closed the distance, not with a kiss this time, but with his hand reaching for hers. Their fingers laced slowly—relearning the feel of one another.

Then the hallway disappeared. The noise around them faded. And they stood in a pocket of time that belonged only to them.

A staff member hurried past them and said something about them being needed onstage for the opening speech. But neither of them reacted right away.

Because in that moment, they weren't co-stars. They weren't a fan-favorite pairing or trending hashtags. They were two people who had been broken, bruised, and aching—and who still chose to find their way back.

Together.

Ashtine took a shaky breath. "Ready?"

Andres smiled, squeezing her hand. "Only if you are."

They stepped onto the carpet—not as strangers, not even as actors—but as something slowly blooming again.

In slow motion.

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