The rehearsal hall was dimly lit, the air heavy with the scent of paint, dust, and faint traces of sweat. Evening sunlight filtered through the high windows, casting long golden streaks across the makeshift stage. Shadows danced on the walls, and the atmosphere buzzed with a strange electricity—the kind that only creative chaos could generate.
Leo sat on the edge of the stage, absently flipping through a worn copy of the script. The others were scattered across the room, chatting, scribbling notes, or fiddling with props. The group had been meeting daily now, polishing lines, adjusting blocking, and slowly—painfully—becoming something that resembled a real team.
But Leo's focus wasn't on the lines.
It was on Rin.
She stood near the back wall with her back half-turned to the room, notebook clutched tightly in one hand, pen in the other. She hadn't spoken much during rehearsal. Not since last week's change in the script. Not since Leo and Yuki had started talking more again.
He remembered her words clearly:
> "Not all love stories need happy endings to be beautiful."
It had stayed with him like a pebble in his shoe.
She hadn't accused. Hadn't blamed.
But it still stung.
---
Rehearsal resumed with Kai reading stage directions in an overly dramatic announcer voice.
"This is a tale of hearts colliding—of words unspoken and truths unveiled!"
"Stick to the script," Rin muttered without looking up.
"Yes, boss," Kai grinned.
Hana threw a paper prop at him.
Despite the mood, things were functional. The group ran Scene Five twice—once with Kai and Hana as the arguing siblings, once with Leo and Yuki walking through the metaphorical 'garden of memory.'
Each line delivered, each movement choreographed, and yet…
There was something raw simmering beneath the surface.
During a break, Aira approached Leo.
"Can I steal you for five minutes?"
"Uh, sure."
She led him to the side hallway, away from the noise. Aira was rarely this serious.
She didn't speak immediately. Just leaned against the wall, eyes on him.
"I've been watching the group," she said. "And watching you."
Leo tensed. "Am I doing something wrong?"
"No. That's the problem."
"…What?"
"You're too careful, Leo. Too polite. Too quiet. Like you're trying not to break anything. But people aren't glass."
Leo looked away.
"Rin's hurting," Aira continued. "And Yuki's confused. And you… you're scared. I get it. But if you keep avoiding the hard stuff, this whole play is going to feel fake. Because real stories require honesty."
He exhaled slowly. "I didn't mean to hurt anyone."
"I know. But meaning well doesn't erase the pain."
She handed him a revised script. "You have a new monologue. Scene Seven. We wrote it for your character, but I want you to make it yours. Really yours."
Leo nodded. "Okay."
---
That night, he sat in the dorm stairwell reading the new monologue.
> "I never meant to stay silent. I thought waiting would make things easier. That if I waited long enough, the world would decide for me. But silence is a choice too, isn't it? And now, everything I didn't say echoes louder than the words I could've spoken."
He closed the script.
Then opened a blank message window again.
He didn't write to Rin this time.
He just stared.
Until Kai walked by, holding instant noodles and humming.
"Deep in the drama pits again?" he asked.
Leo sighed. "Yeah."
Kai flopped down beside him. "Want some chicken-flavored wisdom?"
"Always."
Kai slurped. "Just tell them. Both of them. What you feel. Worst case, you get rejected. Best case, you stop being the confused protagonist in a love triangle."
Leo chuckled. "You make it sound so easy."
"It's not. But hey, if we're gonna suffer, might as well do it dramatically."
---
Next day, Rin handed in a completely rewritten Scene Eight.
"I added a second ending," she said calmly. "Just in case."
Yuki read it, blinked, then quietly slipped the script into her bag.
No one spoke of it, but something had shifted.
The characters were starting to blend with their actors.
And the real story… was only beginning.