The car stopped, and I pressed my small hand against the glass. The studio was even bigger than yesterday. The doors were wide and shiny, like they could swallow me whole. I could see cameras on tripods, lights dangling from the ceiling, and people walking so fast they almost blurred.
Mom squeezed my hand. "Ready?" She asked.
I nodded, though my stomach felt like it had little butterflies trapped inside. Butterflies that might fly away if I moved too fast.
Inside, the air smelled different. A little like paint and a little like popcorn. The floors were smooth and shiny, reflecting the bright lights above. I walked slowly, careful not to bump anyone. People moved around me, talking into headsets, carrying boxes, looking important.
A woman with short hair and a clipboard came over. "Junseo?" She said, her voice soft. I nodded again. My throat felt tight.
"Hi. I'm your assistant for today. I'll help you with everything." She said.
I looked at her shoes—they were shiny black, with little silver buckles. She knelt so her eyes were the same level as mine. "Do you want to see where you'll be filming first?"
I nodded. She held my hand, and we walked through a maze of cables and stands. Lights hung above, glowing, making shadows on the floor. I tried not to step on the cables, even though it was hard. My shoes kept sliding a little on the polished floor.
We stopped in front of a small set. It looked like a living room, but everything was brighter than real life. The couch was soft and red, the table shiny and clean, and there were toys on the floor—cars and blocks.
I could have played, but I knew I wasn't supposed to yet.
"Here's where you'll act. We'll start in a little while. You can get used to it." The assistant said.
I touched the couch with my hand. It felt warm, like it remembered people sitting there before me. I wondered if the cameras would see the warmth, too.
Then a man with a camera walked close. He smiled at me, but it wasn't like Mom's smile—it was polite, like he was looking at a picture, not a person.
"Junseo, can you sit here?" He asked. I climbed onto the couch. My legs didn't reach the floor, and I swung them a little. The cameraman crouched down so he could look at me.
"Perfect." He said.
—
Waiting was the hardest part. I didn't move much. I watched the lights reflect on the floor. I watched my fingers tap softly against the couch arm. I counted the lines in the carpet.
One…two…three…four…five…six…seven…eight…
I looked at the people around me. They moved fast and didn't notice me, mostly. But sometimes they looked my way. I smiled once, and they nodded. That was enough.
Mom and Dad stood a little behind, quiet. Dad's hands were folded in front of him. Mom's fingers pressed together, like she was holding something small and fragile. I felt small and fragile, too.
After a while, the assistant came back. "Time to try a practice scene." She said.
I didn't know what that meant exactly. Practice sounded like school, like when I had to color inside the lines. I didn't like messing up.
"Just be yourself." Mom said quietly.
I took a deep breath. My chest felt tight. My hands rested on my knees. I looked at the toys. I wanted to play, but I knew I had to wait.
The director came over. He was tall, with a serious face, and he made a clipboard look like armor. "Junseo, you're doing great. Just follow the assistant's instructions." He said.
I nodded. My head felt heavy, like it had cotton inside. But I tried to smile anyway. A real smile, not just the kind Mom tells me to do. I wasn't sure it worked. My lips moved, but my heart didn't feel different.
—
The first take didn't go well. I forgot the line. I looked at Mom, hoping she wouldn't notice, but she did. She smiled a little anyway. Dad's eyebrows went up, not angry, just surprised.
"Let's try again." The director said.
The assistant took me back to the couch. I watched the cameras, the lights, the people moving fast like they were in a race I didn't know about. I felt small, but I tried to remember Mom's words: Just be yourself.
I said the line again. This time, it came out right. Not perfect, but right. I felt a little flutter in my chest, like the butterflies yesterday. They weren't gone. They were still there, but smaller.
The director nodded. "Good. We'll go to the next scene after a short break."
I jumped down from the couch. My legs were tired, but I didn't care. I wanted to run and tell someone I did it. But no one noticed. They were too busy.
So I went to the toys on the set. I picked up a small car and pushed it across the shiny floor. It made a soft clicking sound. I smiled, just a little. That felt good.
Lunch was in a small room with big windows. I sat on a chair that made my legs swing. Mom and Dad ate slowly, trying not to spill. I picked at my food. It didn't taste bad, but I wasn't hungry. Too much thinking in my head.
I looked out the window. Cars moved like ants. People hurried by. I imagined the little car I was holding was driving among them, racing, not caring about rules or contracts.
Mom leaned down. "Are you okay?" She asked. I nodded. "I think so." Dad put his hand on mine. "You're doing fine." He said. I liked hearing that. It made my chest feel lighter.
Back on set, the day went on. I learned to wait, to follow the assistant, to sit on the couch, to say lines, to stop swinging my legs. I felt small, but I was learning to be part of something big.
At the end of the day, when the lights dimmed and the people packed up, I felt a strange kind of tired. Not sleepy, but like my brain and legs had been stretched in every direction.
Mom held my hand. Dad lifted me into the car. I leaned against the window, watching the city glow. My stomach had butterflies, but they were calm now.
"I think I like this." I said quietly.
Mom smiled, and Dad nodded. They didn't say anything else. I didn't need them to. I knew tomorrow, I would come back. And maybe, I thought, maybe it would feel easier then.