The studio smelled the same as yesterday—paint, a little popcorn, and the faint scent of something sweet from someone's coffee. I pressed my hands against the floor, trying not to slip. The lights were bright, but not too bright this time.
They made the shadows look sharp on the walls.
"Junseo. We need you to cry for this scene." The director said, leaning over his clipboard. His voice was soft but firm, like he was asking something important.
I froze. Cry? I didn't feel sad. Not really. My eyes didn't sting, my chest didn't feel tight. I didn't know how to make tears come out as the grown-ups did in the dramas I sometimes watched.
I looked at Mom. She gave me a small nod. Like she was saying, you can do this.
The assistant guided me to a small corner with some props: a tiny chair, a blanket, and a little toy dog. I sat down and held the blanket tight. I tried thinking about being sad. I thought about the time I lost my favorite toy under the couch and couldn't find it, but it didn't work. No tears.
Just a little squirmy feeling in my stomach.
I looked up. The director's eyebrows were raised, patient but not too patient. Behind him, the cameras and lights were ready. I felt like a bug under a magnifying glass.
Then, Jung Kyuho came over. He was taller, older, and moved in a way that made everyone quiet when he did. He knelt beside me. "Hey, sometimes it helps to remember something real. Something that made you really sad before." He said softly.
I blinked. Real? But…I didn't feel sad now.
He reached out, pointing to a small toy on the floor. "Remember when you lost something? Or when someone made you feel small?" He asked gently.
I thought about yesterday on set. I thought about the first time I couldn't say my line right. My throat felt tight. My stomach felt funny. And…and I remembered crying a little when I fell off my bike and scraped my knee last week. That hurt. That really hurt.
I held the memory in my chest like a tiny stone.
I remembered Mom's hand on my knee, her soft voice saying it would be okay. I remembered the sting. I remembered being embarrassed.
Something bubbled up. I didn't move at first. My eyes felt wet. Kyuho watched, patient, not pushing.
Then—just a little—tears came. Not a flood. Just two small drops. I blinked fast, trying to hide them. But the director leaned forward with a small smile. "Good." He said.
I felt my chest get a little lighter. The butterflies from yesterday were here again, fluttering in my stomach. But now…now there was something else. Something warm, messy, and real.
The assistant gave me a tissue, but I didn't need it yet. I just held the blanket tighter and let the memory sit with me. The cameraman adjusted his lens, the lights didn't hurt, and everyone waited quietly.
Kyuho patted my shoulder. "See? You just had to remember."
I nodded. I didn't say anything. I didn't need to. I felt…proud, even though my cheeks were wet.
We did a few takes. Each time, I remembered a little more, and the tears came easier. Not always perfectly, not always enough, but enough for the director to say, "That's the one."
Mom and Dad stayed close, quiet. Their eyes followed me everywhere, but they didn't hover too much. I liked that. I felt like I had room to try, to fail, to try again.
—
During a break, I sat with the toy dog. I wiped my eyes and pushed it across the floor, watching it roll. The shadows moved with it. It was fun, but I still remembered the crying. That feeling wasn't bad. It was…okay.
Kyuho came by again. "You did well today. Not everyone can find their feelings like that." He said softly.
I looked at him. I wanted to say something, but all I did was nod. Inside, I felt like a little hero, even if no one else noticed. The assistant whispered, "Next scene in five minutes."
I took a deep breath, holding the memory close again. Not too tight, not too loose. Just enough.
Lights, cameras, action. I followed the memory. The tears came when they had to, the lines came when I remembered them. The director didn't clap or cheer. He just nodded, quietly. That was enough.
When the day ended, I walked out with Mom and Dad. My legs were tired. My eyes were a little puffy, but I felt…different. Not better, not worse. Just…something.
I looked at Kyuho one last time. He smiled softly, not big, not showy. Just a little. I felt like he understood something I didn't have words for yet.
In the car, I pressed my small hand against the window. Outside, the city was glowing. Lights bounced off the buildings and cars, reflecting like tiny stars. I felt the butterflies, yes, but now I also felt a little spark inside me.
Maybe crying wasn't just sad. Maybe it was a way to see things inside myself I didn't know were there.
I held the blanket tight. Mom's hand held mine. Dad's hand rested over both of ours.
I think…I think I can do this.