James walked onto the soundstage, stretching and muttering under his breath about the early call time. He barely glanced at the call sheet—until he saw her name. Aurora. A memory hit him like a punch: six years ago. Six years since that first movie, that first kiss. She had been sixteen, bright-eyed and nervous. He had been twenty-one, thinking he had it all figured out. And somehow, he’d kissed her, and it had mattered more than he’d expected. Now she was twenty-two. And she was… dangerous. Gorgeous. Magnetic. Everything about her had grown sharper, warmer, and impossibly alluring. He shook himself, trying to focus. Girlfriend. Focus on your girlfriend. But the second she stepped onto the set, all self-control fled. Aurora walked in, casual but radiant. Her hair fell perfectly, her eyes caught the light, and that small, knowing smile… damn it. He was already pulled in. She noticed him instantly, a spark of recognition crossing her face. “James,” she said softly, tilting her head, just enough to let him see the old Aurora under the grown woman she’d become. He grinned, a little crooked, low, teasing, letting the tension build. “Aurora,” he said, his voice smooth. “Wow… you’ve… really grown into this.” Aurora’s laugh was soft, playful, but there was a hint of caution — she remembered history too. “And you’re looking… older,” she said, smirking slightly. James’s grin widened, taking a half-step closer, just enough to make the space between them charged. He opened his arms lightly. “Come here,” he said, pulling her into a hug. She leaned into him, just slightly, and he let his hands rest casually on her upper back, brushing a hand down in a way that lingered a little too long. Not overly bold, just… touchy enough to remind her, and himself, of the spark that had always existed between them. “You smell the same,” he murmured, close to her ear. Aurora laughed softly, a shiver running through her at the low tone, the intimacy of it. “You haven’t changed either,” she said, her voice teasing but warm, letting him notice how much of her past self was still there. They broke the hug but stayed close, shoulders brushing, the kind of small touches that made tension crackle through the air. “So,” James said, leaning in slightly, eyes locked on hers. “Looks like we’re doing a scene together again. Guess the universe really likes messing with me.” Aurora tilted her head, letting him see her smile fully now — confident, radiant, playful. “Seems that way,” she said. “But don’t think I’m going easy on you just because we… know each other.” James chuckled, brushing his fingers lightly against her arm. “Oh, I wouldn’t dream of it,” he said, voice low, eyes darkening with amusement and something more. “I think I might actually like the challenge.” They stood there for a beat, two familiar people turned strangers and back again, every glance, every tiny touch carrying weight. Every unspoken thought — the history, the longing, the impossible pull — hung between them like electricity. And James realized, with that familiar mix of excitement and danger, that his girlfriend, his plans, his life… none of it mattered at that moment. Aurora’s hand brushed his as she adjusted her hair. He caught it for just a second longer than necessary, letting it linger, teasing, charging the air. “Ready?” she asked, smooth, teasing, challenging. James smirked, voice low, flirty, and just a bit reckless. “Always,” he said. “But I have a feeling this is going to be… complicated.” She raised an eyebrow, smiling, knowing exactly what he meant. And as the director called “Places!” and the cameras began to roll, the tension between them didn’t vanish. It only thickened, slow-burning, inevitable, and impossible to ignore.