Next day at college canteen, I'm halfway through my coffee when I hear her voice. Soft, familiar, painfully sweet.
"Ash!"
I turn, and there she is.
Lena Carter, sunlight bottled in a person, walking toward me like the world hadn't just burned itself down. She looks… happy. Genuinely, impossibly happy.
She stops in front of me, slightly out of breath, clutching a notebook to her chest.
"Why did you leave before the cake cutting? I didn't even get to talk to you!"
My mouth goes dry. The memory of the laughter, Samuel's smirk, that damn toast… it all rushes back like a wave I can't dodge.
"I, uh…" I force a small smile. "Felt a little dizzy. Thought I should head out early."
Her brows knit in concern. "You're okay now, right?"
"Yeah." I lie. "Just tired, I guess."
She nods slowly, then her whole expression lights up again, like she just remembered something wonderful.
"Oh! That's perfect timing actually."
I blink. "For… what?"
She grins. "You have to audition for the college play."
I blink harder. "I, what?"
"Romeo and Juliet!" she says, bouncing slightly on her heels. "They're doing open auditions this week. I'm already cast as Juliet, and you… " she jabs a finger at me, "You'd make the perfect Romeo."
I almost laugh. "Lena, come on. I've never acted in my life."
"That's not true," she counters immediately. "Remember the seventh-grade talent show? You read that poem like your heart was breaking."
"It was breaking," I mumble.
She laughs, that soft musical sound that hits somewhere deep in my chest. "Exactly! That's what makes you perfect. You don't fake emotions, you feel it. That's what Romeo needs."
I rub the back of my neck, trying to look anywhere but at her. "I think you're overselling my tragic charm, Juliet."
"Oh, stop." She nudges my arm lightly. "You'll do great. Just say yes."
"Lena…"
"Please." She draws the word out, eyes wide, voice dipping into that pleading tone that's always been my undoing.
"Come on, Ash. You'll love it. It'll be fun, I promise."
Fun. Right.
Nothing about pretending to be in love with her in front of a crowd sounds remotely fun.
And yet…
The way she's looking at me now, eyes bright and hopeful, like she still believes I'm capable of something good
I can't say no.
"Fine," I sigh, defeated. "But only because you clearly won't survive rejection."
She beams. "Knew you'd say yes."
I manage a smile, though my chest feels tight. She doesn't realize what she's asking of me.
To stand beside her again. To call her Juliet while someone else owns her heart.
But still… somewhere deep down, a foolish part of me whispers:
Maybe, just maybe, I could be her Romeo again.
Even if it's only for a play.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
Alice and I sit across from each other at this tiny café near campus, the kind that serves coffee in chipped mugs and plays indie music from a speaker that's probably seen war.
She's scrolling through her phone, pretending not to watch me fidget with my script. I've read the same line at least ten times, and it still sounds like a middle-school drama club nightmare.
"So," she says without looking up, "Romeo, huh?"
I glance at her. "Lena asked me to audition. It's not a big deal."
Her eyebrow twitches. "Of course she did."
There's a pause, the kind that fills up all the air between people who know each other too well.
I stir my coffee just to have something to do. "It's just a play."
Alice finally looks up, her eyes tired but sharp. "Right. And you're just an actor."
I huff out a laugh. "Hey, I can act."
"I'm sure," she says. "You've been acting for weeks."
That hits harder than I want to admit.
She's not talking about the audition. She's talking about the smile I wear every morning, the way I joke like nothing's wrong, the silence after I think she's fallen asleep.
I look down, tracing circles on the rim of my cup. "She seemed happy, you know? Like… really happy."
Alice softens, her voice quieter now. "And that's a good thing."
"Yeah." I force a smile. "It is."
We sit in silence for a while, and that's not awkward, just heavy.
Finally, she says, "Break a leg, star boy."
I grin. "You coming to watch me crash and burn?"
She snorts. "Wouldn't miss it. Someone's gotta clap when you forget your lines."
I laugh, but the sound feels thin. Like an echo of something I used to be.
And when I glance at my reflection in the café window, I barely recognize the guy smiling back.
He looks calm. Collected.
Like someone who's got it together.
Just another performance.
⟡ ✧ ⟡
The drama hall smells like old curtains and nervous sweat. A group of students huddle near the front, whispering, laughing, some reading lines like they're auditioning for their lives. I stand near the back, pretending to scroll through my phone, but really, I'm just watching her.
Lena's here. Bright, animated, glowing like she belongs under a spotlight.
She's helping people sign in, giving out scripts, laughing at something someone said.
And then there's him.
Samuel.
Of course he's here.
Of course he's already charming the room like he owns it.
He leans against the desk beside her, all casual confidence. His arm slides around her shoulders like it's been there forever.
"My Juliet," he says with a smirk that makes my stomach turn.
Lena laughs. Soft, indulgent. "You haven't even auditioned yet."
"Please," he says. "They'll give me the role for my looks alone."
People laugh.
I don't.
I stare at the floor and tell myself it's just acting. Just a play. Just lines from a script that's been dead for centuries.
But the way he looks at her isn't acting. And the way she smiles back…
Yeah. That's what hurts.
When they call his name, Samuel saunters up like he's walking a red carpet.
He takes one glance at the script, then smirks at the judges. "Do we really have to say it word for word?"
A few awkward laughs.
The professor running the audition, a middle-aged man who looks like he's been grading essays since the dawn of time, sighs. "Just… read the lines, Mr. Blake."
Samuel starts with a sigh so exaggerated it deserves its own award.
"But, uh, soft, what light through yonder window breaks…" He squints at the paper. "Seriously, who talks like this? No wonder Romeo died. Guy was exhausted from trying to sound poetic."
That gets a few more laughs. Forced ones. Lena doesn't join in this time.
When he's done, he tosses the script aside with a little bow. "There. Shakespeare would be proud."
I doubt it.
Then someone calls my name.