Back to the Bleachers

Becky Armstrong never believed in love at first sight-until the day Freen Sarocha walked into the film set, hair tied up messily, holding her coffee like it was the only thing keeping her alive. Beck had seen beautiful people before. She'd worked with beautiful people before. But Freen was something else-effortless, like she didn't even know she was the reason the sun decided to rise.

At first, Beck tried to play it cool. On set, she cracked her usual jokes, teased the crew, and acted like she didn't notice Freen glancing at her between takes. But in truth, every time Freen smiled at her, Beck's heart did a little somersault, the kind she hadn't felt since high school crushes and stolen glances across cafeteria tables.

One afternoon, during a break, Beck found herself sitting on the steps outside the studio. She was scrolling her phone when Freen dropped down beside her.

"You always hide out here," Freen said softly, her knee brushing Beck's.

Beck smirked. "I could say the same about you."

Freen tilted her head, eyes sparkling. "Maybe I'm just waiting for the right person to find me."

And just like that, Beck was gone. Completely, hopelessly gone.