---
It was supposed to be a regular day of filming — light dialogue, scenic shots, background extras. Nothing too emotional. Nothing scripted to carry weight. But something shifted before the cameras even started rolling.
The weather turned.
What had begun as a bright, late afternoon sky folded into thick, moody clouds without warning. The crew checked weather radars, but the forecast showed nothing out of the ordinary. Still, the sky insisted otherwise.
"Rain's coming," one of the set assistants muttered, eyeing the horizon. "Bet on it."
And sure enough, it did.
A drizzle at first. Soft and cautious. Like the sky was testing how much it could hold back. Then, all at once — it fell. Hard, cold, and unscheduled.
By the time they called the rain delay, the equipment was half-covered, the extras had scattered, and the director was shouting over the storm to clear the area. Everyone was sent indoors to wait it out.
Ashtine had barely made it inside the old classroom they were using as a holding space when the storm reached full pitch. Raindrops pounded against the wide glass windows, echoing off the tiled floor. The air smelled like wet leaves and distant thunder.
She sat on one of the benches near the window, hugging her knees to her chest. Her jacket had caught some of the rain. It clung to her sleeves in damp patches.
She didn't mind.
In fact, the sound — the storm's rhythm — calmed her.
That was when he walked in.
Andres.
He shut the door behind him gently, the sound barely registering above the rain. His hair was damp at the ends, and the collar of his sweatshirt was darkened by water. He looked around, saw her by the window, and paused.
There were other holding rooms. Other places he could've gone.
He walked over anyway.
Wordlessly, he sat on the bench beside her — not close enough to touch, but close enough to feel the warmth that lingered between them even on the coldest day.
She didn't look at him at first.
He didn't speak.
Minutes passed like that.
The rain softened slightly. But the tension didn't.
She finally broke the silence.
"Didn't bring an umbrella?"
He smirked without turning. "Didn't think I'd need one."
"I thought you were the type who plans everything."
"I thought you were the type who doesn't talk much."
She glanced at him. "I don't."
He looked back at her then — and this time, the silence that followed wasn't awkward. It was full. Something was always full between them these days.
"Did you mean it?" she asked.
It wasn't casual.
It wasn't unclear.
He knew exactly what she was asking.
About the kiss.
About the scene.
About the way he looked at her after.
"I don't know how to act that well," he said finally. "So… yeah. I meant it."
She looked away, her throat tightening. "I figured."
He leaned back slightly, his fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against his thigh. "You?"
She didn't answer right away. The rain had slowed to a mist outside, streaking down the windows like long, sighing tears.
"I think I've been meaning it for a while now," she said quietly.
There it was.
Not a confession.
But close.
He swallowed. His hand shifted just slightly closer to hers on the bench, still not touching. His voice was lower when he spoke again.
"We never really talk about it."
"What would we even say?"
"That maybe it's not just acting anymore."
"Would we be allowed to say that?"
He looked at her then. Fully. No teasing in his eyes. No shield.
"I don't care."
Her chest ached at how simple he made it sound.
She wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. "Sometimes I wish I could just stop thinking. Just feel things. Let them happen."
"You already do," he said gently.
She turned to him, their faces inches apart now.
"I'm scared it'll ruin everything," she admitted.
"Maybe it will."
"Then why do you keep showing up?"
"Because I'd rather ruin everything than keep pretending I don't want more."
The storm wasn't as loud anymore, but her heart felt like thunder.
He moved slightly closer.
Still not touching.
But close enough to count every breath between them.
"Can I ask you something?" he said.
She nodded.
"Did it feel different… when we kissed?"
Her voice nearly broke. "Yes."
He exhaled — not like he was relieved, but like he'd been holding that breath for days.
"I keep thinking about it," he said. "Not just the kiss. Everything. The moments in between."
"Like what?"
"The way you reach for the hoodie sleeves when you're nervous. How your fingers twitch when you're trying not to speak. How you smell like jasmine and coffee after lunch. How you say my name when you're caught off guard."
She swallowed hard. "You've noticed all that?"
He nodded.
She looked at him.
He looked at her.
The space between them was no longer quiet.
It was charged.
So she did what she hadn't done in weeks.
She reached out.
Her fingers found his hand — palm open, warm, waiting.
They didn't kiss.
They didn't have to.
Because that touch — soft, steady, real — said everything.
---
Later, when the rain had cleared and the shoot resumed, they returned to their places.
The scene was simple.
Walking under trees. Talking.
The camera rolled.
But something had changed.
Their words were still scripted. Their movements, blocked.
But the way he looked at her? The way she let him?
It wasn't acting.
Not anymore.
The director didn't even need to give notes.
Whatever was happening between them — it made everything shine.
---
When they wrapped for the day, she lingered in the hallway near the dressing rooms. Part of her wanted to go straight home. Wash the rain from her hair. Pretend this wasn't all slipping out of her control.
But another part of her — the bigger part — didn't want to leave without saying something.
He found her first.
As if he knew.
He stopped in front of her, hands in his pockets.
"You okay?" he asked.
She nodded.
But she didn't move.
Neither did he.
"I don't want to mess this up," she said.
"You're not."
"And I don't want people talking."
"They already are."
"I don't want to fall."
He looked at her, and when he spoke, his voice was barely a whisper.
"I think you already did."
She didn't deny it.
Instead, she reached for his hand again.
And this time, she didn't let go.
---