I jolted awake to the sound of my phone vibrating relentlessly on the nightstand, my mom's name flashing across the screen like a silent accusation.
My eyes were barely open, and the clock read half an hour past the time I was supposed to be up. I'd told everyone I'd been stressed about rehearsals, but the truth?
I'd just overslept. Last night was supposed to be an early night, but I'd been so wound up with excitement that I kept checking my lines and pacing my room until way too late. Now, the rehearsals were starting in less than an hour.
My mom's voice crackled over the line, sounding half relieved and half exasperated as she said, "Layla, mija, it's time! You're going to be late!"
I threw the phone down, jumped out of bed, and rushed to get ready. Even I was surprised at how quickly I managed to throw myself together.
I yanked on clothes, brushed my teeth in a hurry, and ran a brush through my hair. The whole routine took me a grand total of fifteen minutes—record time for me.
Just as I was scrambling to grab my things, Maya honked from the street. I dashed outside, practically leaping into her car as we sped off.
If anyone had been watching us, they'd probably have reported us by now. We'd already run one red light, barely rolled through two stop signs, and zipped through a crosswalk with pedestrians still halfway across.
The speed limit was only a suggestion at this point. I clung to the door handle as we made sharp turns, my heart pounding in time with Maya's heavy breathing.
Both of us were in a nervous but giddy panic, the thrill of the rush mingling with our anxiety about my first official rehearsal.
By some miracle, we made it. I scrambled out of the car, my hair windblown and my pulse racing. I sprinted through the studio doors, trying to catch my breath as I spotted a group of people already gathered in the rehearsal room.
I took a second to smooth my clothes and steady myself, then pushed the door open, stepping inside with what I hoped was an air of calm confidence.
"Sorry I'm late," I said, forcing a polite smile.
A few of the cast members nodded, offering friendly smiles and murmured "No problem"s. But Zaya? She didn't even acknowledge my apology.
She just glanced in my direction briefly before returning her attention to her phone, looking entirely unbothered and every bit as icy as her reputation. I rolled my eyes internally, but took the opportunity to scan the room, taking in the faces around me.
Right near the center of the group was a tall, striking woman, her glossy black hair perfectly framing a composed face. She looked regal, like someone who'd step in as the princess's best friend with ease, her expression poised and professional.
Standing beside her was another actor, a middle-aged man with a kind of stern intensity in his gaze that made him seem exactly like someone who'd be a trusted advisor in a royal court. He was studying his lines, focused and serious, as though this rehearsal was already the performance of a lifetime.
And then there was him—the man who'd be playing my on-screen fiancé. He was broad-shouldered with tousled dark hair and a sharp jawline, leaning against the wall with an easygoing confidence that was almost magnetic. His gaze was thoughtful as he surveyed the room, catching mine for a split second.
He gave a brief nod, and I felt a flicker of intrigue. His charm felt effortless, and I could already picture him in the role, walking with me through lavishly decorated ballrooms as the handsome, betrothed prince.
The rest of the cast members faded into the background, exchanging polite small talk with each other, none of them standing out as much as the main characters.
They all seemed to be well into their routines, already comfortable in their roles and mingling like they'd known each other for months instead of mere days.
Just as we were all starting to settle in, the director walked in, his presence commanding immediate attention.
He wore a dark, casual outfit, a pair of glasses perched on the bridge of his nose, giving him an air of easygoing authority. He clapped his hands to gather everyone's focus and gave us a wide smile, his eyes twinkling with excitement.
"Good morning, everyone," he greeted us, voice full of enthusiasm.
"We're thrilled to have such an amazing cast assembled here. Today's going to be all about getting comfortable with each other and the script. We're not jumping straight into filming just yet; instead, we'll be doing a line read and some preliminary rehearsals."
I glanced around the room, noticing a mix of relief and anticipation on the faces of the other actors.
Zaya, however, looked as impassive as ever, arms crossed and eyes half-lidded, her expression unreadable. I wondered if she was as tired as she looked or if the unreadable look was just part of her usual demeanor.
The director continued, flipping through his copy of the script. "We're going to start with one of the most pivotal scenes—the ball where the princess and the spy meet for the very first time.
It's a key moment that sets the tone for everything that follows. Zaya, you'll be in this scene as the spy, and Layla, you'll be arriving with your fiancé. This will be our first chance to really feel out the chemistry between the characters."
A rush of excitement bubbled up in me. The first scene! I could already feel my nerves trying to creep up again, but I focused on steadying my breathing.
I reminded myself of my rehearsed lines, the careful hours I'd spent with Maya running through every possible inflection, and willed myself to channel all that work into a calm confidence.
The director motioned for us to take our places, explaining that he wanted this first read-through to be loose and natural, without any pressure. He wanted to see how we'd bring the characters to life, and I could tell he was watching each of us intently, assessing our initial interactions.
My pulse quickened, but I tried to keep my expression neutral, not wanting to give away my anxiety to anyone, especially Zaya, who was already eyeing me with that detached, cool gaze of hers.
As I walked over to stand beside the actor playing my fiancé, I noticed his expression shift slightly, a hint of a playful grin tugging at the corner of his lips. He extended his hand as we introduced ourselves quietly.
"Looking forward to this," he said, his voice warm and deep. I felt a blush creep up my cheeks, but I managed a composed nod, hoping my nerves weren't too obvious.
"Same here," I replied, smiling back. We'd only just met, but his easy demeanor had a calming effect, and for a moment, I felt some of my initial jitters melt away.
The director gave us one final, expectant look, then raised his hands. "Alright, everyone. Let's start."