The Sunday afternoon sun filtered through the rehearsal hall's high windows, casting golden streaks across the polished wooden floor. Leo stood near the center of the stage with a binder clutched tightly in his hands.
His script.
The new one.
Around him, the cast waited in a semicircle—some cross-legged on the floor, others perched on the edge of chairs and risers. Rin sat in her director's chair, expression unreadable. Kai was lounging nearby with a lollipop in his mouth, clearly enjoying the growing tension.
Leo exhaled. "I rewrote Act II and the ending. Based on what… we've all been doing on stage lately."
Ami's gaze flicked up briefly. Yuki didn't say a word, but her hand slowly tightened around the edge of her seat.
Rin spoke. "We'll do a table read first. Then, we block. Let's see if your truth holds."
---
The new script was raw. Honest. Unflinching.
It started the same, but by Scene 4, the dialogue diverged. The male lead no longer pretended to understand his feelings. He faltered. He questioned himself aloud. And when the confession scene arrived, it didn't involve a grand gesture—it was quiet, hesitant.
> "I don't know if I love you the way you want me to," the male lead said, "but I know you make me feel like home."
Yuki blinked at the line. She looked down at the script, her lips slightly parted.
Ami's character responded in the next scene with something just as cutting:
> "Then maybe I should stop hoping someone like you would ever look my way and see me—not just someone standing near the light."
That wasn't even Leo's line. Ami had added that.
Kai whispered to Rin, "It's like emotional MMA."
Rin replied, "It's finally interesting."
---
The second half of the script transformed the story from a high school romantic fantasy to something deeper. It became about choice. About timing. About the people we hurt when we're afraid to speak.
The antagonist—Ami's role—wasn't truly an antagonist anymore. Her scenes with Leo revealed her as someone who had loved silently for too long, whose bitterness wasn't rooted in malice, but exhaustion.
And Yuki's character evolved too. In the final act, she no longer waited passively. She challenged. She demanded. She cried.
The new ending didn't pick a girl.
It ended with the male lead saying:
> "I'm not choosing between you. I'm choosing to become the kind of person who deserves someone like you."
---
The rehearsal ended in silence.
No applause.
Just silence.
Then Rin clapped once. "That," she said, "was a play."
Leo let out a shaky breath. He hadn't realized he'd been holding it.
Yuki stood up slowly. "That scene by the river… Was that based on when I—"
Leo nodded. "Yeah."
She smiled softly. "You changed what I said."
"I didn't want to just quote you," Leo said. "I wanted to… answer you."
Yuki's eyes shimmered.
---
Later that night, Leo returned to the music room. The piano waited in the dark. He sat, not to play, but to think.
A soft knock.
He turned.
Ami.
She stepped inside, her shadow long across the tile. "Hey."
"Hey."
"I read the scene again," she said. "The one where I ask your character why he never noticed me."
Leo nodded. "I wasn't sure if I should include that."
"I'm glad you did."
Silence.
"You were right to end it like that," she said, looking toward the piano. "Not choosing. That's… what makes it real."
Leo hesitated. "I wasn't trying to avoid hurting anyone."
"I know," Ami said. "That's why it hurt the right way."
They stood there for a moment, not as rivals, not as characters—but as two people who had finally said what they needed to.
Ami turned to leave. "I'm still going to act my heart out. Just so you know."
Leo smiled. "I'd expect nothing less."
---
Back in the dorm hallway, Yuki leaned against the wall with two cans of soda in hand.
When Leo approached, she handed him one.
"I'm glad you rewrote it," she said.
Leo glanced at her. "Even if it made things more complicated?"
Yuki shrugged. "Things were already complicated. At least now it's honest."
They sat side by side on the floor, shoulders almost touching.
Yuki broke the silence. "You still don't know who you'll end up with, do you?"
Leo chuckled. "Not even close."
She looked up at the ceiling. "That's okay. I'll wait. But only if you keep being the kind of person worth waiting for."
Leo looked at her—really looked.
"…Then I'll try harder."