She never meant for it to get this far.

Back in 2020, when the world shut down and she was twelve with unlimited internet access and too much time, she’d fallen into Wattpad like everyone else. But instead of reading endlessly, she started writing. Not the overly explicit stuff everyone whispered about, but a slow, aching love story—one about timing, longing, and choosing each other again and again.

She worked on it for three years. Quietly. Obsessively. At fifteen, she sent it to a few publishing firms, convinced nothing would happen.

One of them called back.

The book—Still, Always—became everything she never imagined. A bestseller within months. Praised for being tender, timeless, pure. A romance people didn’t hide on their shelves. By sixteen, she was rich. By seventeen, she was everywhere—funny interviews, TikToks, red carpets. The internet’s it girl who somehow stayed… normal.

And now, she was sitting in a glass-walled casting room, knees bouncing, palms sweaty.

Because they were making a movie.

And she was co-directing it.

The story followed Elio and June—two people who loved each other quietly, deeply, across years and missed chances. She knew them better than anyone. She’d built them from nothing.

And now someone else was going to be Elio.

The assistant poked her head in. “Walker Scobell’s here.”

Her soul left her body.

She’d gone to school with girls who had Walker Scobell posters. Her friends had screamed about Percy Jackson edits. She’d nodded along, pretending he wasn’t cute, pretending she wouldn’t combust if she ever met him. So when the casting director said he was the first option? yeah, she almost died.

The door opened.

Walker walked in wearing a hoodie, hair a little messy, hands shoved into his pockets like he wasn’t entirely sure where to put himself. He smiled—awkward, genuine.

“Hi,” he said. “I’m Walker.”

She stood up too fast. “Hi—yeah. I know. I mean, obviously. I’m—” she stopped herself, cleared her throat, professional mode activating. “I’m the author. And… co-director.”

He blinked. “That’s… that’s actually insane. You wrote Still, Always? I didn’t know you—“

She nodded. “When I was fifteen.”

“Wow,” he said softly, eyes lighting up. “That book wrecked me.”

Her heart skipped. “You read it?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little sheepish. “My mom made me since I was auditioning for the main character. I pretended I wasn’t into it and then cried at like… chapter twenty.”

She laughed despite herself.

They sat across from each other, script between them. He read Elio with a quiet intensity—not overdone, not flashy. He hesitated where Elio would hesitate. He softened where Elio would soften.

She forgot to breathe.

At one point, he looked up. “Is this how you imagined him?”