---
The second time they met, it was less awkward.
Or maybe… they were just getting used to the awkward.
It was early morning again. The kind of morning that still smelled like rain and freshly painted set walls. Room 3B was cold, with humming AC and stale coffee in the corner. They were called for a cold read — no blocking, no rehearsal, just raw delivery from page to mouth.
Ashtine entered first.
This time, Andres was already there. Sitting cross-legged on the floor, script in hand, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair messy like he didn't care (he definitely did).
"You're early today," she said, not unkindly.
He looked up and smirked.
"Trying to impress you."
She blinked.
"Try harder."
Andres chuckled, closing his script.
"You always sound so calm," he said. "Even when you're roasting me."
"I don't roast," she said, sitting down across from him on the floor. "I clarify."
They were facing each other, legs crossed, scripts between them like a chessboard.
The assistant director dropped off water bottles, then dipped out, leaving just the two of them in the quiet.
---
"Let's read," Andres said.
"Page 9," she confirmed.
Their first true emotional scene — a confrontation in the middle of the hallway.
Two characters who hated each other… and yet, you could already tell that hate was starting to fray.
"Why do you care?" she read, voice steady, cool.
"Because I see you," he replied. And this time… it didn't feel like just reading.
There was a shift in his voice — a softness. Like the words had weight.
"No, you don't," she continued.
"You see the version of me you made up in your head."
Andres paused.
"Maybe," he said slowly.
"But maybe I like her."
The room fell quiet.
They both looked down at the script. Then up.
Her voice cracked slightly when she tried the next line.
"We're not friends."
"No," he agreed.
"We're something else."
Silence again. But this time it wasn't awkward.
It was full. Heavy.
"You okay?" he asked, the line-break forgotten.
Ashtine looked down. Smiled without meaning to.
"Yeah. I just—didn't expect that to hit."
"You were… incredible," he said, his voice softer than before.
Then he added quickly:
"As the character, I mean."
"Sure," she said, but there was a quiet laugh beneath her words.
---
They ran it again.
And again.
And by the fourth time, they weren't reading.
They were living it.
Her voice trembled at the right moments.
His gaze never dropped from her face.
They weren't playing enemies anymore.
They were becoming something else entirely.
---
After the read, the director peeked in.
"That was raw," he said. "I think we found our leads."
They nodded, professional, composed.
But Ashtine felt it — the way her heart was pulsing against her chest like it wanted to speak.
Andres noticed.
Of course he did.
"You always this intense during cold reads?" he asked, walking beside her out the door.
"Only when I'm opposite someone who can keep up," she said without looking at him.
He grinned — not cocky, not teasing.
Just genuine.
"So that's a compliment?"
"It's a threat," she said, lips curving slightly.
---
That afternoon, Andres posted a photo of a highlighted script page. No caption.
But fans zoomed in.
Two lines were underlined in red:
"No, we're not friends."
"We're something else."
---
Meanwhile, Ashtine posted a soft photo of the hallway outside Room 3B — the light hitting the floor in a perfect line.
In the corner, a comment appeared:
🌹
No words.
Just that.
And the fans?
They started noticing.
---
Sometimes chemistry isn't loud.
Sometimes it hums.
Soft and dangerous.
Like the start of something that could change everything —
if you let it.
---