It wasn't supposed to be a long day.
They'd wrapped early—scene changes went smoother than expected, no reshoots were needed, and the weather had decided, for once, not to ruin the rooftop setup. Everyone was relieved. Happy, even. The cast was gathering their things. A few were making dinner plans. Ashtine stood by the dressing room mirror, pulling her hair into a loose ponytail, humming a quiet tune to herself.
Andres lingered at the doorway, watching her through the reflection.
He wasn't in a rush to leave.
She caught his gaze in the mirror and raised an eyebrow, playfully. "You just gonna stand there and stare?"
"Maybe."
She turned, folding her arms. "Need something?"
He shrugged, stepping into the room. "Just wondering what you're doing tonight."
She grabbed her bag and slung it over her shoulder. "I was thinking of heading home. Maybe crash early."
His face fell a little, just enough for her to notice.
"…Or," she added slowly, "I could grab coffee. If someone asked nicely."
He laughed under his breath, rubbing the back of his neck. "Then I guess I better ask nicely."
—
The café they found was quiet. Tucked in a side street, away from fans, flashes, and assumptions. The kind of place that smelled like old wood and vanilla beans. They sat in a corner booth, legs brushing under the table, neither moving away.
He ordered a black coffee. She got her usual—something sweet with a swirl of cinnamon. He remembered it without asking.
"You always remember," she teased.
"Of course," he said. "I pay attention."
Their laughter came easily. They talked about anything that wasn't acting—childhood memories, songs they loved in secret, how annoying it was when people assumed they were just their characters.
When the drinks came, she held her cup with both hands, warming her fingers.
"Do you ever wish we met in a different way?" she asked suddenly.
He looked at her, surprised. "Why?"
"I don't know. Maybe then this wouldn't be so… complicated."
He nodded slowly. "I get that."
"But then again," she added, "I wouldn't change it. Not really."
"Me neither."
She smiled. That smile again—the secret one. And it made him want to freeze time.
—
The sun dipped lower, casting golden streaks through the window. The café lights came on, soft and warm. Still, they didn't leave.
At some point, she rested her elbow on the table, chin in her hand, just watching him talk. And he noticed.
"What?" he asked, chuckling.
"Nothing," she replied. "Just… listening."
"You're smiling again."
"Am I not allowed?"
"Not like that. It's dangerous."
She laughed, looking down.
The silence stretched again—not awkward, but full. Comfortable.
He leaned forward. "Can I ask something?"
She met his eyes. "Always."
"Why me?"
She blinked. "What do you mean?"
"There are people who see you—who chase you. Why… this?"
She looked at him for a long moment.
"Because you never chased," she said quietly. "You just… showed up. You listened. You saw me."
He swallowed. His fingers drummed against the cup.
"You know," he said, "I didn't want today to end."
"Then don't let it," she whispered.
He reached across the table.
And she didn't hesitate.
Her hand found his.
Their fingers didn't just touch—they laced together like they'd been doing this all their lives.
Neither of them looked away.
They didn't need to.
Because now, nothing else around them mattered.
Not the fans, the rumors, the scripts.
Just this moment. This night. This feeling.
Andres didn't want the day to end.
Because with her, it felt like the beginning of something that didn't need an ending at all.