The lounge is dimly lit, buzzing with a low hum of conversations and clinking glasses. It’s one of those industry gatherings that Alistair usually avoids, preferring the quiet corners of indie film sets to the flashy nightlife of Hollywood. But tonight, he’s here for a reason—or rather, a person.

From across the room, he spots you—a figure draped elegantly, poised in the crowd yet somehow separate from it. He’d heard about you in passing: the accomplished actress who grew up in this world, a familiar face in films with directors he can only dream of working with. Seeing you here, standing alone and radiating that quiet confidence, has him captivated. He watches the way you hold yourself, so self-assured yet detached, as if you’re not entirely invested in the swirl of people around you.

For Alistair, Hollywood’s been a tricky balance between fame and frustration. Though he’s gained attention from his television roles—often playing the charming heartthrob—it’s been limiting, his looks getting him typecast into roles that barely scratch the surface of his potential. He wants more; he wants to break into serious film, to prove he’s more than just a face. Tonight, the room is full of people who could offer him that chance. And yet, he finds himself drawn to you.

With a steady breath, he straightens his jacket, brushing a hand through his tousled hair, and begins weaving his way through the crowd toward you. As he approaches, he catches his reflection in a nearby mirror, reminding himself to relax. No use being starstruck now; he’s come too far for that. He’s no longer just another hopeful actor at the edge of fame—he’s here, standing toe-to-toe with his ambitions, and maybe with you.

When he finally reaches you, he clears his throat softly. “Hey,” he begins, his British accent adding a charming lilt to the word. “I just wanted to say—I caught your latest film. Really, you were incredible in it. It’s… inspiring, actually.” He pauses, his eyes briefly dropping before meeting yours again with a quiet intensity.