After the table reading the day before, the directors had scribbled down notes, pages filled with thoughts on what was working, what wasn't, and what needed to shift.
Today they had shut themselves away to hammer it all out, but just because the script wasn't ready didn't mean the cast had earned a free day.
Even without final pages in their hands, they had been told to come in. Waiting didn't mean idleness.
They were expected to bond, to practice, to test the rhythms between them until they stopped feeling like strangers and started breathing the same air on stage.
They needed to correct each other where it faltered, sharpen timing until it cut clean, and stretch their performances until chemistry flowed without hesitation.
The rehearsal room itself seemed designed for such work. It was massive, a space that swallowed sound and reshaped it into something alive.
High ceilings rose above them, light spilling from hidden fixtures that bounced across polished white tiles. Walls of glass shimmered faintly under the glow, framed by gold trim so subtle it wasn't boastful, only quietly authoritative.
It felt less like a practice hall and more like a sanctum for performance.
Furniture had been placed with intention. Plush chairs, high tables, and low clusters of seating broke up the vastness into pockets where people could gather without obstructing the flow of movement.
The arrangement drew the cast into natural groups, each cluster with its own energy.
Actors had already formed their circles. Some sat with scripts open, lines murmured aloud. Others leaned against tables or stood in pairs, sparring with dialogue.
The room buzzed with more than words. Laughter cracked open corners of the hall.
Paper rustled as pages flipped; voices rose and dropped like tides. A heel clicked against tile, then another, each echo folding into the vibrant hum that filled the space.
And within that shifting noise, the three leads somehow gravitated toward each other again and again, as if orbit pulled them into one sphere.
Most of Finn's scripted moments with Mia were hostile ones, sharp-edged fights where his character spat cold words at her. Mistreated her.
Between Mia and Zayn, however, the script demanded warmth, sweetness, a kind of tenderness that unfolded in stark contrast.
That imbalance sat uneasily inside Finn, though he refused to show it. But whenever Zayn grew too easy with Mia, slipping into playful chatter or running through the intimate lines of their scenes, Finn felt something coil in his stomach.
He dismissed it each time, scolding himself in silence, he wondered why he felt and reacted like Mia was his secret girlfriend and Zayn's nearness was some threat.
It was absurd, so he scoffed quietly and smoothed his expression until nothing showed.
The day progressed smoothly, until Zayn, casually and without warning, suggested that he and Mia test their "love chemistry."
Finn froze for a heartbeat, his body betraying him before his mind caught up. The phrase echoed, relentless... love chemistry. What exactly did Zayn mean by testing it? Was he enjoying this far more than he should?
"First of all," Zayn began, his tone easy, though his hand rubbed the back of his neck as if he had been carrying the weight of this confession, "I know my character is supposed to be this cool, no-nonsense type. The guy who doesn't trip over his own feet, doesn't babble, just acts. Slow, sure, collected." He hesitated, then exhaled. "But I've got to admit something, and it's embarrassing as hell. In my twenty-two years, I've never… actually done anything romantic with anyone. This film..." he gestured vaguely toward the scripts stacked nearby, "this film is the first time I'll get close to someone. My first kiss might happen in front of all these cameras. And honestly? I have no clue how to handle that."
His voice carried honesty.
Mia burst out laughing, the kind of laugh that rippled up from her stomach and spilled too easily, unrestrained.
It was always like this with her.. light, effortless. She leaned closer to him, eyes gleaming, and nearly whispered against his ear, "So this will be your first kiss?" Her tone carried mock shock, yet her words were pitched just low enough that it felt like a secret being shared.
Pulling back, she widened her grin. "What were you even doing in high school? And now you're almost done with college and still nothing? You've got to be kidding me." She tilted her head, still amused. "Come on. I'm sure there's a reason. Tell us."
"There's no reason," Zayn said, a grin tugging at his mouth before it faltered, slipping away like he had startled himself with the question.
Why indeed?
Why had he gone untouched by any of it all those years... no dates, no fumbling kisses behind locked doors, no experiences that others had piled up carelessly?
He had never been deprived of attention; if anything, it had been overwhelming. Girls had approached him, sometimes boldly, sometimes shyly, both in high school and later in college.
He had the face everyone followed with their eyes, the kind of body- people whispered about. He could have chosen any one of them, and yet he hadn't.
His thoughts snapped back when Mia turned to Finn. "Can you believe him? It's unthinkable. Twenty-two and nothing?" She laughed again, then shook her head. "There has to be a reason. Unless, of course, you're planning on becoming a priest." Her gaze flicked back to Zayn, teasing but edged with curiosity.
"Never," Zayn said instantly, his voice firmer now.
Finn's reply was quieter, almost dismissive. "I'm not surprised."
The words seemed plain, yet they made Zayn's head jerk toward him, eyes narrowing.
He knew Finn too well, far too well, he knew Finn had no experience either. The urge to fling that truth back into the open burned in Zayn's throat.
He could have exposed it, could have laid bare the fact that both of them stood on the same untested ground. But he stopped himself, swallowing the words because he knew letting them out would unravel the lie they'd built... the denial that they had any history beyond the present.
Mia, oblivious to the charged silence stretching between them, seemed delighted. She lowered her voice again, directing it at Zayn. "So what you're telling me," she said, her grin mischievous, "is that I'll be your first kiss? Honestly, that flusters me a little. Don't you dare go practice on anyone else before then. Keep it for me."
Her words started playfully, but their eyes locked at that moment, and they lingered. Their smiles faltered. Their eyes caught, held, refused to release.
The joking lilt vanished, leaving only the unspoken weight of what that meant.
Finn couldn't watch any longer. His body moved before he fully decided, carrying him away from the scene.