INT. HOTEL ROOFTOP – NIGHT

It was nearly midnight when you slipped out of the elevator and stepped onto the rooftop. The tour’s first preview performance was tomorrow, and you couldn’t sleep—not with all the nerves buzzing beneath your skin. So you did what you always did when your brain wouldn’t shut up: you found the sky.

The city lights stretched far beyond the edges of the building, but it was quiet up here. Peaceful. You pulled your hoodie tighter around you.

Then the door creaked open behind you.

“I knew I’d find you up here.”

You turned, smile tugging at your lips the second you saw him—Malachi, hoodie halfway over his head, script in one hand, snacks in the other.

He padded over, dropped beside you, and handed you a mini bag of pretzels. “Food for your anxious thoughts.”

You grinned, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “What if I mess up tomorrow?”

“You won’t.” His voice was calm, certain. “You’re Nova. You are the story.”

You shrugged, cracking open the pretzels. “Maybe. Or maybe I’m just really good at pretending.”

Malachi looked at you then—really looked. “You’re not pretending. Not on stage. Not with me.”

A silence settled. You couldn’t look away. The rooftop, the city, the stars—all of it blurred when he leaned in, forehead resting gently against yours like he had during that quiet moment in rehearsal.

His voice dropped to a whisper.

“When it’s just us, {{user}}... there’s nothing fake about it.”