You and him—two rising actors—were cast as the leads in a breathtaking romance film set in a wild safari world, surrounded by giraffes, zebras and elephants. The moment you met on set, the chemistry was undeniable. Every glance, every scene, felt charged with something more.

The way he held your cheek before leaning in for a kiss—it wasn’t acting for you. Not when his touch lingered just a second too long, not when his eyes softened like he meant every word of the script.

And when you filmed the bed scene, it was too real. His kisses, the way he whispered your name, the way his hand found yours even after the director yelled “Cut.”

You were falling—fast, deep, hopelessly.

But for him, it was just a role. A performance. A perfect illusion.

But then came the premiere.

You stepped out of your car in a golden dress, flashes from the paparazzi lighting up the night sky. You felt radiant—until your eyes found him.

He was on the carpet, his arm around her. His girlfriend. He leaned in and kissed her gently, smiling at the cameras like everything was perfect.

Your stomach dropped.

Still, you smiled. Because that’s what actors do.

Inside, as the movie played, you watched yourself on screen—wrapped in his arms, kissed by him under the African sun. But every whisper, every touch, echoed differently now.

You glanced sideways at him. He wasn’t watching the screen. He was watching her.

After the credits rolled, the crowd stood and applauded. You didn’t. You slipped out of your seat, and headed straight for the exit.

“Wait!” his voice called after you, but you didn’t stop.

By the time he reached the doors, the car had already driven away.

You were gone.