The Scene Behind The Scene
The cast was gatheredinside the soundstage. Scripts were scattered across the table as the crew prepared for the last table read of the night.
Love sat near the director’s monitor and flipped through her annotated script while Malcolm adjusted camera angles. Tara stood off to the side with a clipboard, nodding along as wardrobe notes were discussed. Zay was back near the sound team.
They were deep into rehearsal when Shai—award-winning actress, Grammy nominee, and lead in the adaptation—sat forward and began reading her lines for the next dramatic moment.
“I need you to tell me,” she said, her voice cracking with carefully placed emotion. “Tell me right now that none of this was ever real. That it was just a game to you. That you don’t actually want to build a life together. That it just sounded nice.”
Love’s breath caught. That line, word for word. Her eyes tracked every syllable as Shai pressed on.
“And when you look me in the eyes and say, ‘I love you,’ you don’t really mean it.”
The entire soundstage fell into a hush. Everyone’s attention narrowed to Shai, with only a few glances toward Love. She tried to look unaffected, but her chest tightened.
Shai continued, softer now. “So that my stomach can stop hurting. And I can go back to living my life never being fully satisfied with anybody else.”
Even Malcolm had paused and watched her intently. A stillness settled over the room.
Zay, sitting several feet away, blinked hard. He remembered those words. Not from the script, but from a familiar night when he was in Amsterdam. He’d been tipsy, distracted, heart racing after a show. Princess was on the other side of the phone, voice breaking, telling him she couldn’t keep loving someone who made her feel invisible.
He remembered the pain. But he remembered it differently.
Malcolm’s excitement broke the heavy silence across the room. “That’s it! That’s the scene. That’s how you deliver!”
He turned toward Zay. “What kind of sound are we thinking here for tone?”
Zay hesitated for a moment as the memory lingered. “Something stripped back. Sparse. Maybe piano, soft strings . . . It’s about internal conflict. Regret. Like . . . buried pain clawing its way out.”
Love scoffed, and suddenly, everyone turned. Her voice was sharp. “Andyouthink you can capture that?”
Zay raised a brow. “Why wouldn’t I?”
She tilted her head. “I don’t know. Might be hard to score emotional depth if you’ve never actually felt it.”
The air cracked.
Shai blinked. Tara’s head whipped between them. Kam glanced up from his phone, brows raised.
“Excuse me?” Zay said. His voice grew dangerously deep.
“I just don’t see how you plan to build something that moves people if all you’ve been doing is running from anything real.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You think I don’t feel?”
“You tell me,” she said flatly. “Your last few songs, all just flashy and fast. All smoke. No soul.”
Zay leaned forward, voice tight. “Like your book? Disguised as empowerment but it’s really just a neat little diary full of everything you were too scared to say.”
The room tensed. There was another pause, yet the silence was so loud.
Malcolm cleared his throat. “Maybe we should take five.”
“I’m taking ten,” Deuce shot back quick, already rising.
Everyone filed out. The door clicked shut. Only Love and Zay remained seated in place.
The silence that lingered after the doors closed felt thick enough to drown in. Love remained frozen, arms crossed tight across her chest like armor. Her face held steady, but the heat behind her eyes betrayed her. Pain, anger, maybe even fear simmered beneath the surface. Zay clenched his fists and bounced his leg against the leg of the chair as if it were the only thing that kept it from falling off. Neither of them wanted to be the first to flinch, but too much had been said, and yet, so much hadn’t. The air between them cracked, not with a reconciled love, but with everything they had once promised and broken.
