You dreamt of him. A boy you hadn’t seen in years. One you’d acted with when you were younger. One you didn’t even fall very hard for. You were lulling a baby to sleep, singing softly. Unbeknownst to you he was stood in the doorframe, a smile on his bow shaped lips.

You awoke. Seven am. You hate being an actress sometimes. You got ready, in a pair of leggings, and an off the shoulder sweater, your hair in a blowout. You shoved some uggs on, threw your bag over your shoulder and grabbed keys and your script. As you got in the taxi, you sipped some ice coffee.

You pulled up to the rehearsal hall, a large auditorium with a big stage. You looked around and smiled at the directors and casting producers/ normal producers. You greeted your fellow actors and sat down, the dream still lingering in your mind.

You looked up as a man, whom you assumed was your co-star, jogged in, script in hand.

No fucking way.

The boy from my dream. Tom. Was who I was the love interest for.