After that night, something had shifted—not loudly, but like a door that had quietly clicked open in the dark. It wasn't just the way Andres handed her water bottles before she asked, or how Ashtine saved a seat for him even when she wasn't sure he'd show. It was deeper, subtler. An invisible thread had been pulled tighter between them, and they both knew it.
On set the next day, the scenes were light—playful banter, awkward touches meant to mimic a budding romance. But neither of them had to fake it anymore. The chemistry wasn't an act. Every look they exchanged felt real. Every time their hands brushed, it lingered.
They weren't pretending. Not really.
Ashtine caught herself watching him during breaks. Not just glancing—watching. The way he smiled at the crew. How he absentmindedly hummed while waiting for lighting to adjust. How he ran his hand through his hair when he was nervous before a scene.
And the worst part? Everyone else started to fade.
She noticed it at lunch.
She sat with the rest of the cast around a plastic table with paper boxes of food. The noise was loud—laughter, teasing, the clatter of chopsticks and plastic cups. People talked to her. She laughed in the right places. Smiled when expected.
But her eyes kept finding him.
Andres was sitting across from her, deep in conversation with the costume designer, half-smiling, nodding along. He was animated, expressive, his fingers moving slightly as he spoke. His voice wasn't loud, but it carried. She couldn't hear every word, but she didn't need to.
He glanced at her. Just once.
She looked away too quickly.
When she glanced back, he was still looking. This time, he smiled—just a little, just enough for her chest to tighten.
She bit the inside of her cheek. This wasn't good.
But it felt so good.
—
Later, during rehearsals, she was paired with another actor for a side scene. Just a quick bit of dialogue, a filler moment. The other actor was kind, professional, charismatic in the way everyone loved.
But something was off.
He delivered his line, leaned in like the scene required. His voice dipped gently, almost flirtatious. She was supposed to react. Her cue was to look surprised, then soften.
But it didn't come.
Her eyes flicked over his shoulder, involuntarily.
Andres was watching from the corner.
Their eyes locked.
And suddenly, the rest of the scene felt like noise.
—
"You okay?" the actor asked once the director yelled cut.
"Yeah," she said quickly. "Sorry. Mind slipped."
The actor smiled. "It happens."
But it didn't. Not to her. Not like this.
She walked off set and didn't realize she was walking straight toward Andres until they nearly collided.
"Oh—sorry," she mumbled.
"You okay?" he asked, mirroring the other actor's words, but his tone was different. Softer. Private.
She nodded, hesitated. "I just... I couldn't focus."
He tilted his head slightly. "Why not?"
She wanted to say it. Wanted to blurt, Because I'm too focused on you. But she didn't. Instead, she shook her head, offered a half-laugh. "I think I need coffee."
He didn't push. "Then let's get some."
They didn't tell anyone. They slipped out quietly and walked to the nearby coffee cart outside the studio. The air was warm, thick with Manila heat and the hum of traffic.
He bought her an iced Americano before she could speak. He remembered.
They sat on a bench nearby, silence settling easily between them.
"You ever feel like everyone else is just... background noise?" she asked suddenly, eyes on the cup in her hands.
Andres didn't answer right away. "All the time."
She turned to him.
"But only around you," he added.
Her breath caught.
He wasn't smiling this time. He wasn't teasing. He just looked at her like he meant every syllable. Like he'd been holding that in for a while.
She didn't know what to say. The truth sat heavy in her chest, aching to be acknowledged.
"Me too," she whispered.
He leaned back on the bench, eyes drifting to the sky. "It's weird, isn't it? We meet hundreds of people every year. Fans, co-stars, staff, strangers. But somehow, you're the one I always come back to."
She turned her cup in her hands, fingers damp with condensation.
"You feel... sharp," she murmured. "Like I can't blur you out, even when I try."
He looked at her again. Not the playful way he usually did. Not like a co-star, not like a friend.
Like she was the center of every scene, even the ones he wasn't in.
The moment stretched.
He didn't kiss her. Not yet. But the space between them was charged, humming with possibility.
"I should get back," she said softly, but she didn't move.
"Yeah," he said, but he didn't either.
They sat there a few moments longer, two people who suddenly realized how quiet the world had become around them.
When they returned to set, the others barely noticed they were gone.
But Ashtine and Andres? They noticed each other.
And everyone else? Everyone else felt dull now.
---