Second act

Lunch break. 

For me, it's usually a brief escape from the noise, a chance to gather my thoughts and refuel without prying eyes or needless chatter.

Today, though, my plans dissolve the second Nicole pops up beside me with a neatly packed lunch and that familiar glint in her eyes the kind that tells me she's got news I won't necessarily enjoy.

"Your grandma made this for you," she murmurs with a small smile, pushing the lunchbox into my hands. It's the one she always uses, pale blue with a worn clasp, and as I hold it, the faint scent of home cooking fills the air, grounding me.

I give her a nod, about to turn and head toward the quieter hallways when she speaks again, and her voice is laced with excitement.

"Actually, Zaya," she says, "I thought you might want to share. I told everyone you'd suggested we eat lunch together!"

It takes a second for her words to sink in. I barely suppress the glare building in my eyes as I lock onto her with exasperation. Nicole, my so-called assistant, smiling away as if she'd done me a favor.

Eating together with a crowd of actors on the first day, surrounded by idle chatter, laughs, and shared glances? That is absolutely the last thing I wanted. The whole idea of "together" has my patience fraying before we've even sat down.

But it's too late now. They've already started gathering at a long table by the window, settling into seats, setting out their lunches. I can feel my jaw clench as Nicole nudges me forward, practically pulling me along until I'm sitting next to Layla.

Of course, Layla. Her enthusiasm, her energy it's almost palpable from inches away, like a fire too close to my skin. Her perfume is sweet, too sweet, a scent that lingers even after she shifts slightly to give me space. 

And now here I am, boxed in, glancing around the table at the actors all exchanging bits of gossip, laughing as if we were long-lost friends.

I chew a bite of the sandwich, nodding stiffly at a joke someone tells, my gaze shifting to the window in hopes it will distract me from the buzz of voices.

One of the actors, the man playing the fiancé still a little too smug after the morning's scene launches into a story about his last film.

His laugh is forced, too loud, and every time he talks, he leans forward, as if his life story is the most riveting thing in the room. I give a short nod, barely acknowledging his words.

Layla seems genuinely interested, offering polite smiles, her laughter breaking through my irritation.

I'm chewing on a piece of apple when, out of nowhere, Layla turns to me with a warm smile, her eyes crinkling slightly. "So, what are you eating?"

I pause, glancing at her before looking down at the lunchbox. "It's from my grandmother. She makes it every now and then," I say, my voice kept deliberately cool, hoping the conversation will end there.

But Layla's eyes light up, and she gives a soft laugh. "That's really cute."

Cute? Cute? The word grates against me like nails on a chalkboard. My grandmother's meals are special, not cute. I'm not some kid bringing a lunchbox to kindergarten, and I don't need someone to reduce something meaningful to such a trivial word. 

My expression must show some of my annoyance because Layla's eyes widen, and she quickly adds, "I mean, it's sweet, that she does that for you." She looks away, fiddling with her fork, and for a brief moment, there's a flicker of something genuine in her smile, an awkward charm that feels oddly disarming. But I push the thought aside.

The others have taken this as a cue to start discussing family traditions, meals their parents used to make, their childhoods. As they chatter on, I zone out, picking at my food, feeling as though I'm trapped at a reunion I never agreed to attend.

At one point, Layla leans over slightly, her elbow brushing mine as she reaches for a water bottle.

The soft pressure of her arm against mine is just enough to pull me from my thoughts, and I shift, instinctively pulling away. She mutters a quiet "Sorry," but I just nod, ignoring the light, floral scent she leaves in her wake. 

It's frustrating, really, this proximity, this feeling of being unable to escape for even a moment. Her presence is magnetic in a way I can't quite explain, and I hate that it pulls me in, even slightly.

Every time she laughs, every time she shares a snippet of her day, her voice stands out above the others, a constant thread that draws my attention despite my best efforts to ignore her.

"Honestly, I thought the ball scene was intense," one of the actresses says, breaking into my thoughts. She gestures to Layla and the actor playing her fiancé. "The chemistry was there, but it still needs work."

Layla blushes slightly, her smile warm but shy. "Yeah, I think so too. It's tough finding that balance between tension and indifference."

I huff quietly, unable to resist the urge to chime in, even though I know it's better to stay quiet. "That's because you're meant to be cold toward him," I say, folding my arms. "If you start acting like you enjoy his touch, the whole scene loses its edge."

The others fall silent, and Layla looks taken aback. She recovers quickly, though, nodding in agreement.

"Right, right. Good point, actually," she says, her voice thoughtful. But there's a slight edge in her gaze, a look that suggests she doesn't appreciate being lectured in the middle of lunch.

Nicole, ever the peacemaker, jumps in with a light laugh. "Well, I think it was impressive for a first day. Everyone's getting a feel for each other." She flashes me a look that says, *Behave,* but I just shrug, going back to my lunch.

The break finally nears its end, and everyone starts gathering their things, tossing away empty containers, wiping the table clean. Layla stands up beside me, her perfume lingering as she reaches for her bag.

I grit my teeth against the sweetness of it, wishing I could pull back, but she gives me a small nod before joining the others as they file back into the rehearsal room.

The director strides in, clapping his hands to get everyone's attention. "All right, people, let's pick up where we left off," he announces, his voice carrying across the room.