The cameras are rolling, and the tension is high.
Prinya is right there. He is so tall and solid. It feels like his mere presence is filling the minuscule space between us. We hold the look for 1…2…3…4 seconds.
His dark almond eyes are steady on mine. I feel like he can see right through me. My pulse is hammering in my throat, and breathing is becoming harder to do. The air changes. It suddenly feels thicker and warmer. Something charged is hanging between us.
For four seconds, something happens that is not in the script – not even in the footnotes.
It feels like time froze. I look at his dark chocolate eyes, then his mouth, and he looks back. I lick my lips without thinking, and his gaze follows the movement of my tongue. His gaze lingers there for a fraction of a second before returning to my own wide eyes. Neither of us moves away; the magnetism is undeniable. I wonder if his heart is also trying to escape from his chest. I know I'm blushing; I can feel the heat creeping up my neck. Soon my whole face will resemble a tomato. I have to force my hands to stay at my side as I want to reach out and trace his beautiful, full lips.
"Cut!"
The director's call breaks the tension. We step apart instantly.
Get a grip, Wei-Wei!
I let out a huge sigh of relief and look away. We don't say anything, and Prinya also pretends to find something very interesting across the room. Prinya seems composed as ever on the outside, but I catch the slight tension in his jaw before he walks away.
I am rattled. My hands are shaking, my heart is pounding, and my skin feels like it's been left out in the sun too long. My face feels sunburnt, but it's probably only the blush; the only thing burning is my dignity.
I decide it must be the lights. Why are they so bright anyway?
****
During the break, Prinya walks over without saying anything. He just sets a cup of tea on the small table beside me - exactly the way I like it, black, no sugar - and then turns and walks away.
Even though his actions seem strange, I pick up the cup and drink it slowly anyway. It is warm and delicious, which is more than I can say for most things today.
When we start again, Prinya is colder and more composed. The change isn't dramatic, at least I don't think it is, as no one else seems to notice it. But I notice. His voice is more clipped and technical. He also stands precisely half a step further away.
"Hold the pause on the third line half a beat longer," he says.
He doesn't look at me any differently than he looks at anyone else. His every move and speech are professional. There is nothing to find fault with, but I notice the aloofness. His actions are cooler towards me. I can sense it. He is polite enough to be professional but professional enough not to cross any lines.
I file it away without comment.
The rehearsal continues. We continue to deliver our lines and meet our marks. Everything was staying exactly between the professional lines Prinya drew so clearly.
And pretend that it doesn't hurt at all. I mean, why would it, right?
****
The remaining scenes pass without incident.
I stay focused, present, and professional. I hit my marks, remember the blocking, and deliver my lines with the right rhythm. The director gives small notes here and there: "softer on that breath," "pause a bit longer here," and I adjust. The work feels good as I start to settle in. For the first time since the audition, I actually feel like I might not be completely out of my depth.
Prinya retains the same aloofness towards me for the rest of the day. He delivers his lines and listens to instructions without much comment. Even when he gives direction, he does so with as few words as possible. When we run lines, his voice is steady, and his posture straight. We don't have another moment like the one earlier. For the rest of the day, there is no lingering eye contact or any charged shift in the air, which is either reassuring or not, depending on how you look at it.
This dumpling is so not looking at it. Nope, not dissecting it and overanalyzing. NOT AT ALL.
As we move through the last few pages of a scene, Nanon joins me for one short scene. We easily fall into a comfortable rhythm, and the scene is approved quickly. When the final blocking run ends, the director claps once.
"Good work today, everyone. We'll pick this up tomorrow at the same time."
As I gather my script and my bag, I make eye contact with Prinya, and that charged feeling is back. I find myself nodding at a few people and saying my goodbyes as I try to look like I'm not rushing to escape. Finally, I'm out the door. I feel like I need to escape. I think the studio lights are too bright (and too hot). My shoulders are tight. Even after I roll them once, twice, and tell myself it is just from standing for too long and not from anything else at all, they still remain tight.
****
Before I manage to leave, Nanon catches up to me near the exit. His voice is low and gentle. He seems a little concerned.
"Hey, Wei-Wei… you okay? That scene with Prinya looked pretty intense."
I smile, quick and easy, adjusting the strap of my bag. "It was just the scene. We were both deep in character. Nothing more than that."
Nanon studies me for a second, then nods. Luckily, he doesn't push. "Alright. If you ever want to talk about it, or just grab a drink to unwind…"
"Not today," I say, still smiling. "But another time. Definitely."
"Sure. Take care, okay? See you tomorrow."
I step out into the evening and start walking back to the apartment, Big Rock following closely behind. Slightly Smaller Rock is driving the car home. They weren't very impressed when I said I wanted to walk, but I managed to convince them.
The streets are busy, scooters weaving through traffic, and street food carts lighting up one by one like someone is flipping switches on a very delicious circuit board. Somewhere nearby, the smell of grilled pork and fried shallots is reminding me that I didn't manage to eat a proper lunch.
I think about the rehearsal, the blocking, the director's notes, and the way the scenes started to click together like puzzle pieces. It felt good to know I am part of something so many people are working on. I feel like my small contribution is important.
I carefully keep my thoughts on those things instead of what happened during those four seconds. I also don't analyze the tea incident or how the air changed when we stood close.
Yes, this dumpling is going to keep lying to himself. It feels safer that way.
****
Two hours later, I am back in my apartment, standing in front of the easel. The lights are low because I forgot to replace the bulb again. My hands move before I even realize what I'm doing. Something is bottled up inside me, and it just feels like it needs to get out, and the only way I know how is through art. I start to paint. I layer color after color onto the canvas. I don't think. Everything just comes pouring out: all the tension, the hurt, the feelings I don't know what to name yet. All of it just gets pushed onto the canvas.
Hours later, I am finally done. I am out of breath and feel empty, but in a good way. I feel more at peace. The room is dark now. I guess the light stopped working. I don't bother fixing it right now; I don't have the energy. I need sleep. As I walk to the door, the moonlight catches my eye, and as I turn around, I see the shape of a jawline. It's unmistakable.
I turn back around and immediately crash into my pillow and let the darkness swallow me. Hopefully, he won't haunt my dreams as well.