67_alxx
She didn't fall in love the normal way.
She studied.
From the first film she watched, the actress became a constant-her voice memorized, her gestures cataloged, her interviews replayed until every smile felt personal. The girl told herself it was admiration, then inspiration, then destiny. That was the lie she learned to live with best.
She entered the acting industry not for fame, not for art, but for proximity. To stand on the same sets. To breathe the same air. To watch the actress between takes, unguarded and real, and convince herself that closeness could be earned through patience and precision. She learned how to disappear into background roles, how to linger just long enough to be noticed but never questioned.
Her obsession is quiet, disciplined, almost reverent. She doesn't want to be her-she wants to understand her. To observe the way she laughs when the cameras are off, the way exhaustion softens her posture, the way loneliness flickers behind practiced confidence. Love, to her, is not possession. It's proximity without permission.
And the closer she gets, the harder it becomes to tell where admiration ends and obsession begins-
or whether the actress, slowly and unknowingly, is beginning to look back.