ð¬ðð¸
The set was buzzing with energy as the crew prepped for one of the biggest scenes in the movieâa heart-wrenching argument between my character, Lily, and Walker's character, Ethan.
The stakes were high, both in the script and in real life. If this scene landed, it would solidify the emotional core of the movie. If it flopped, the whole production might wobble. No pressure, right?
The air was alive with movement and noiseâlights being adjusted, props being set, and the director giving last-minute instructions. The faint smell of coffee and sawdust lingered, mingling with the metallic scent of the set. It all felt suffocatingly familiar, the kind of controlled chaos I'd grown up in. Usually, I thrived in it. But today, the weight of expectations pressed down harder than usual, making it hard to breathe.
ð¬ðð¸
I sat in my trailer, staring at the script for the millionth time.
The words on the page blurred together, their meaning fading into the background of my anxious thoughts. I'd memorised every word, every beat, and every micro-expression I wanted to hit. I'd practiced it alone, in front of the mirror, with my acting coach, even in my head while trying to fall asleep. And still, it didn't feel like enough.
My manager's voice echoed in my head, clear as if she were sitting right next to me. "This is it, Ava. This role could redefine your career. You can't afford to screw it up." I could still see the sharp look in her eyes when she said it, her nails tapping on the edge of her tablet.
The implication was always the same: if you're not perfect, they'll find someone else who is.
I exhaled sharply, shaking off the memory, but my hands still felt clammy.
"Perfect," I muttered to myself, tapping the edge of the script. "Just be perfect, Ava. Like always."
The words felt hollow, but I clung to them anyway.
Perfection had always been my armour, the one thing no one could take away.
If I was perfect, they couldn't criticise me. If I was perfect, I was untouchable.
A knock on the door jolted me out of my thoughts.
"We're ready for you on set," a PA said, poking his head in.
I nodded, forcing a polite smile, and grabbed my jacket.
As I stepped out of the trailer, the crisp air hit me, and my stomach twisted into knots. The path to the soundstage felt longer than usual, each step echoing with doubts I couldn't seem to shake.
Would the director see through me today? Would the audience notice if my performance wasn't real enough? And worse, would Walker notice?
The thought of Walker made my stomach twist even tighter.
He had this irritating habit of seeming completely unfazed by the pressure. He waltzed through every scene like he didn't have a care in the world, while I carried the weight of my entire career on my shoulders. It wasn't fair.
ð¬ðð¸