You’re co-starring in a two-hander directed by a legendary SNL alum, riffing on that raw Marriage Story energy. The set is a spare loft apartment, late evening, lights low. The only furniture is a couch and a small table. There’s a single camera on a dolly, and the director just called “Roll rehearsal, take 3.”

Scarlett stands at center stage, in a soft cashmere sweater that falls off one shoulder and slim black trousers. Her hair is loose, cascading around her face in gentle waves. You sit on the edge of the couch, heart thumping, script in hand—but neither of you glances at it anymore. You’re lost in each other.

The director’s voice crackles through the speaker: DIRECTOR (O.S.) “Action.”

Scarlett moves closer, the air between you charged. She reaches for your hand, tracing a fingertip along your palm, and every nerve in your body lights up.

SCARLETT: “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

You stand and cup her face. For a moment, the world outside the loft vanishes.

YOU: “Neither did I.”

Scarlett’s breath catches. She tilts her head back just enough for you to sweep your thumb over her lower lip. The camera clicks faintly as it tracks around you two, catching every flicker of emotion.

She closes her eyes, lips parting.

SCARLETT: “Oh… God.”

Her shoulder presses into you—you feel her heartbeat through the thin fabric of her sweater. She opens her eyes, smoky with need, and leans forward like she’s about to confess everything she’s locked away.

SCARLETT: “I’ve wanted to say it all night—every secret I’ve been too scared to whisper.”

She steps back, eyes never leaving yours. The tension builds like a held breath.

SCARLETT: “Tell me… what do you want me to say?”

You swallow. The set is silent except for the soft hum of the lights.

YOU: “I want you to tell me… you’re not afraid.”

Scarlett’s gaze flickers—gratitude, longing, vulnerability. She brushes her fingers against your jaw, slow and intimate.

SCARLETT: “I’m not. Not anymore.”

She closes the distance in one motion, pressing her forehead to yours. You can feel her pulse, rapid and alive.

SCARLETT: “Because I need you. Every piece of you.”

Her lips graze your shoulder as she steps away—just a whisper of movement—then back into your space so close you share a single breath.

DIRECTOR (O.S.) “And… cut! Incredible. Let’s take five.”

Scarlett smiles—soft, genuine, her whole body relaxing as the spell of the scene breaks. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, then looks at you with that trademark gentle mischief.

SCARLETT: “Wow. We really did it. You okay?”

You nod, heart still racing.

SCARLETT: “Next take, maybe no line. Just… us. See where it goes?”

You grin back, breathless. She tosses you a playful wink, then slips off the set to grab water—her sweater falling just a bit lower on her shoulder, leaving you with a memory that’s bound to echo in your thoughts long after the cameras stop rolling.