When the Script Changes

Chapter 1: The First Rewrite

And then came the line. The one Becky was sure wasn't in the original script.

Freen tilted her head slightly, her expression shifting from playful to serious. "You make me nervous in ways I don't understand, and I hate it. But at the same time, I don't think I've ever wanted anyone to stay as much as I want you to."

Becky felt her breath hitch, and for a second, she forgot what she was supposed to say next.

Because this wasn't just a line.

It was a confession.

Her heart pounded in her chest, and she could swear Freen was looking at her—not just as Rina, but as Freen.

"Cut!"

The director clapped his hands. "Great job! But Becky, let's run that again with a little more reaction to the confession, okay?"

Becky blinked. Right. This was acting. Just acting.

She shook off the weird feeling and got back into position.

They ran the scene again.

And again.

And each time, Becky felt Freen's gaze pulling her in, like a gravity she couldn't escape.

After wrapping up for the day, Becky walked back to the dressing room, flipping through her script. She wasn't imagining it—this scene had definitely been rewritten.

But the question was: who changed it? And why?

She spotted the director in the hallway and quickly approached him. "P'Tan, about the new script changes—did you approve those? The confession scene felt a little... different from what I remember."

The director scratched his head. "Oh, that? I didn't actually write that part. The writing team made some last-minute adjustments. But honestly, I loved it! It felt so real, didn't it?"

Real.

Becky forced a smile. "Yeah... really real."

As she turned to leave, her mind was racing.

Who had made those changes? And why did it feel like the words were meant for her—not her character?

Freen, meanwhile, sat in the quiet of her dressing room, staring at her own copy of the script.

Her hands hovered over the confession line, her heart beating just a little too fast.

Because she had written it.

Late at night, when the team had asked for final script suggestions, she had impulsively submitted a few revisions. The writing team assumed she was just helping refine the dialogue, but in reality... she had poured her real feelings into those words.

Feelings she had no idea how to say out loud.

She had thought Becky wouldn't notice. That it would blend seamlessly into the story.

But the way Becky had hesitated during the scene, the way her eyes had widened just slightly—Freen knew she had felt something.

And that terrified her.

Because if Becky figured out the truth, Freen wasn't sure she could handle the answer.

That night, Becky lay in bed, unable to sleep.

She picked up her script again, running her fingers over the confession line.

"You make me nervous in ways I don't understand, and I hate it. But at the same time, I don't think I've ever wanted anyone to stay as much as I want you to."

For some reason, her heart ached.

Maybe it was because of the way Freen had delivered the line—so raw, so real, like she actually meant it.

Maybe it was because, for the first time, Becky had struggled to separate herself from her character.

Or maybe it was just great acting.

Yeah. That had to be it.

The scriptwriters were just doing their job—making the story more compelling, adding layers to their dynamic. And Freen? Freen was a professional.

Becky sighed, flipping the script shut and tossing it onto her nightstand.

"It's just a scene," she told herself.

But then why was her heart still racing?

She closed her eyes, willing herself to sleep.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, she couldn't shake the feeling that this drama was going to be different.

That something was about to change.