The morning sun attacked Gabriella Brooks with unnecessary aggression, flooding through her thin curtains like it had personally decided she shouldn't sleep in. It hit her straight in the face, hot and merciless, dragging her out of the dream where she was accepting her Oscar in a glittery gown she could never afford.
She groaned into her pillow. "Why are you like this?"
The sun did not answer. Of course.
Dragging herself out of bed, she shuffled toward her bathroom mirror and held up two shirts—one dramatic and flowy like she belonged in a movie about a mysterious heiress, and the other a cheap five-dollar blouse pretending very hard to look expensive.
"You," she told her reflection, pointing sternly like a motivational speaker who had lost hope, "are a future star. A dazzling actress. A woman of range. A woman of talent. A woman who will—"
Her curling iron snapped loudly like a hissing gremlin.
"—eventually learn to use a hair tool without burning her scalp," she muttered.
She curled one stubborn strand of straight hair, then practiced her facial expressions in the mirror.
Dramatic gasp.
Sorrowful anger.
Mysterious longing.
The mysterious longing looked suspiciously like a the face of someone suffering from severe cramps.
She tried again.
Worse.
Before she could fix her existential crisis, a loud, aggressive knocking shook her apartment door.
"Gabriellaaaaa!"
Sally.
The neighbor who believed that kindness was optional but honesty was mandatory.
"I'm coming!" Gabriella shouted, nearly tripping over her cat pumpkin's empty food bowl. Pumpkin hissed at her as if the bowl was her personal insult to him.
Gabriella swung open the door, and Sally walked in without permission like she paid rent there.
She wore her fluffy bunny slippers, a pink scarf wrapped around her hair, and an expression of deep disappointment in humanity—specifically Gabriella.
Sally stared at her outfit—secondhand cropped sweater, fitted jeans, boots that squeaked at unpredictable moments. Then she sighed the sigh of someone who had witnessed too many of Gabriella's life choices.
"Oh good Lord," Sally said. "You're auditioning again?"
"It's a big role," Gabriella chirped, applying lip gloss with the desperation of someone who needed a win. "This could be my moment."
Sally raised an eyebrow. "For what, dear? A professional clown?"
Gabriella narrowed her eyes. "It's a dramatic lead."
Sally blinked, pausing as though she needed a second to hold in her laughter. "Well, if they need someone who can cry loudly and fall down stairs dramatically, you're perfect."
"I fell one time," Gabriella insisted.
"And it was very dramatic," Sally said, patting her shoulder. "Give them your best, sweetheart."
Coming from Sally, it translated to: Please don't embarrass this apartment building again.
Gabriella grabbed her folder, kissed Pumpkin for luck—he ignored her—and dashed out before Sally could say anything else that would send her self-esteem into witness protection.
---
The audition building looked like someone had designed it specifically to crush dreams. Inside, actors filled every square inch—stretching like gymnasts, humming aggressively, pacing, arguing with themselves, rehearsing lines with dramatic hand gestures that could cause eye injuries.
Gabriella felt underdressed, under prepared, and underpaid.
She took a seat, hugged her bag, and tried not to panic.
Then she heard it.
"Gabriella Brooks?"
Her heart did a full gymnastic flip. She turned around—
And almost dropped her entire life.
"Daniel?"
Daniel Evangelic leaned casually against the wall, smiling at her in that heart-melting way that made her brain reboot. His dyed blue hair looked freshly styled, gleaming under the hallway lights. His green eyes sparkled with amusement, and his shoulders looked like they belonged in a superhero movie.
Her stomach performed somersaults.
"I didn't expect to see you here," he said.
"I live here," she blurted.
Daniel raised a brow. "At the casting studio?"
"I meant—I live… around… in this general vicinity of… life," she said weakly.
He laughed—a warm, soft laugh that made her feel like the main character of an adorable romantic comedy.
"You auditioning for the lead?" he asked.
Gabriella stood taller. "Yes, I am. I've trained for this. I've watched over thirty-seven acting tutorials."
"Impressive," he teased. "That explains the confidence."
"That sounded like an insult."
"It wasn't… entirely."
She gently swatted him with her script. "You dyed your hair," she observed, admiring how ridiculously handsome he looked.
He ran a hand through it proudly. "Yeah. Wanted something fresh."
"Well, you look…" she paused for dramatic effect, "…very charming."
"Thanks, princess." He blew her a playful kiss.
Her brain melted into a puddle.
---
After what felt like three hours and several reincarnations, her name was called.
She walked into the audition room where the director looked like life had personally offended him. He slouched in his chair, staring at her over his glasses like he already regretted meeting her.
"You look nervous," he said.
"I'm not nervous." Her voice cracked. Her bag rattled. She vibrated.
"I'm vibrating with potential."
He scribbled something on his clipboard. She was 99% sure it said vibrating girl??
"State your name."
"Gabriella Brooks."
"Do your monologue when ready."
She inhaled deeply and began.
And then it all fell apart ridiculously.
She tripped over her opening line.
A curl slapped her in the eye.
She gestured too dramatically and almost hit herself.
She forgot the middle of the monologue.
Then improvised something wrong.
Then panicked.
Then cried.
Real tears.
The director stared at her like he was reconsidering his entire career.
He lifted a hand. "Stop. Stop… just stop."
Gabriella froze mid-sob.
"Miss Brooks," he asked, exhausted, "are you crying or sneezing?"
She whispered, "Acting."
The cameraman choked on his laugh. The director closed his eyes as if praying for strength.
"Thank you for your… enthusiasm," he said. "Next."
She left the room mortified. She felt like she had just given birth to embarrassment.
Daniel stood up immediately, worry etched across his handsome features. "How did it go?"
"They laughed," she whispered.
"At your jokes?"
"I wasn't joking."
"Oh." He winced. "Well… I'm sure they appreciated the effort."
"No they didn't," she groaned. "I'm sure they wanted to forget I exist."
---
By the time she left the studio, the moon had painted the sky purple and dark. Her boots squeaked against the pavement, each sound reminding her of how wrong her life was going.
"Maybe acting isn't my thing," she muttered. "Maybe I should be a baker. Or a florist. Or a mail carrier. Mail carriers don't get judged for facial expressions."
She turned the corner—
And stopped dead.
Across the street, a group of five men stood near the big family-owned restaurant La Rosa di Notte—her favorite place to get cheap pasta when she couldn't afford real groceries.
A red gasoline container leaned against one man's leg.
Her heart skipped painfully.
They weren't going inside.
They weren't ordering food.
They were looking around.
Making sure no one was watching.
Then one man smashed the restaurant window.
Gabriella's breath caught. "What the—?"
Another man appeared behind him, lighting something—something small, flaming.
What looked like a fireball in a bottle.
"No, no, no," she whispered, ducking behind a parked car.
The bottle flew through the broken window.
Seconds later—
BOOOM!
An explosion of flames burst inside the restaurant, heat radiating instantly. Smoke curled into the darkening sky.
The men laughed.
One of them turned his head—
And saw movement.
Saw her.
Their eyes locked or so she thought.
Gabriella's entire body froze.
Then she ducked fast.
"There might be someone!" the man said to what seemed like the leader of the group. "I saw a shadow!"
The leader—broad-shouldered, cold-eyed—nodded. "Check it out."
Gabriella gasped.
Then she ran.
Her heart beat like a hammer in her chest as she sprinted down the sidewalk. Her boots squeaked loudly—traitors—echoing off the pavement.
"HEY!!" she heard or hallucinated.
She ran faster.
Lights blurred past her. Her breaths came out in sharp bursts. Her audition folder flew from her hands and scattered across the sidewalk, pages fluttering like terrified birds.
She didn't stop.
Her mind screamed.
Don't look back. Just run. Run. Run.
Her lungs burned. Her legs shook. Tears blurred her vision. She turned down an alley, praying it w
asn't a dead end. Sirens wailed somewhere in the distance—but nowhere near her.
Getting closer.
"No, no, no," she whimpered in fear of being caught.
She slipped on gravel, nearly fell, caught herself, and kept running till she found her way home.