I stood at the edge of the stage, clutching my schedule like it was a lifeline. The theater was grand — gold-trimmed balconies, velvet seats, and dust motes swirling lazily in shafts of afternoon light. Onstage, she sat cross-legged among a scatter of yellowed papers and bent scripts, her focus so complete it felt wrong to interrupt. I hesitated, heart hammering. My first day, and already I was lost. I shifted my weight, the floorboard creaked, but she didn’t look up. I swallowed hard, then cleared my throat.

Her head lifted, eyes meeting mine. For a second, the chaos in my chest went still. She looked surprised, then curious.