Film

Film sat cross-legged on the bed, her posture deceptively casual, though her sharp gaze betrayed her inner calculations. She rifled through her bag, pulling out her phone with a scowl. Her fingers moved rapidly across the screen, only to freeze mid-motion. Her brows furrowed, and her lips twisted in frustration as she glanced up at Namtan.

"No signal?" she asked, her tone clipped and irritated.

When she woke up, her head throbbed painfully, and her vision was hazy. The room around her was dimly lit, and a faint scent of lavender hung in the air. She blinked several times, trying to make sense of her surroundings. The last thing she remembered was the soft glow of streetlights as she drove, the hum of the city in the background—then, a car swerved dangerously close, nearly clipping hers. She had tried to struggle, her hands instinctively gripping the wheel, but two men with guns forced her out of the car. One pressed a handkerchief to her nose, and then... nothing.

Panic surged through her veins as she struggled to sit up. Her wrists were free, but her movements felt sluggish, her limbs heavy, as though weighed down by sandbags. She scanned the unfamiliar room: a neatly made bed, bookshelves lined with law textbooks, and an ornate mirror mounted on the wall, a closet and a door which looked like a bathroom. This wasn't a hospital. It wasn't her apartment. And it certainly wasn't safe. The door creaked open, and a familiar figure stepped inside—Namtan. Film's confusion lingered, but her fear lessened the moment she saw Namtan. When she asked why she had been kidnapped, she almost laughed at the answer.

She was snapped back to the present when Namtan spoke, her arm casually resting against the doorframe. "We're too far from the main cell towers," she replied.

Film let out a bitter laugh. "Of course, we are."

The silence stretched between them, the tension thick and palpable. Film wasn't one to be easily cornered, let alone outmaneuvered. She studied Namtan like a predator sizing up its prey.

"So, what's your endgame here, Miss Law Student? You keep me holed up in this quaint little hideaway until the wedding is over? Then what?"

"The wedding is over, you are free to go," Namtan replied simply.

Film narrowed her eyes, her lips curling into a smirk that didn't quite reach her eyes. "And you think I'll just walk away after this? No lawsuits? No press exposé?"

"You can do whatever you want," Namtan said evenly. "I won't stop you."

Film tilted her head, intrigued by Namtan's unyielding calm. "You really believe you're the hero in this story, don't you?"

Namtan didn't flinch under the accusation. "I believe I did what was necessary."

Film let out a breath, a mix of frustration and reluctant amusement. She rose from the bed and crossed the room, closing the distance between them. For a moment, Namtan tensed, unsure of what Film intended. But Film merely stopped a few feet away, her gaze piercing.

"You know, people like you fascinate me," Film said, her voice dropping to a low murmur. "You're so convinced you're doing the right thing that you don't see the damage you leave in your wake."

"People like me?" Namtan asked, her tone betraying a hint of defensiveness.

"Self-righteous, desperate, and completely blind to the fact that your 'heroic' choices make you no better than the villains you claim to oppose," Film shot back.

The words stung more than Namtan cared to admit, but she refused to let it show. "Think what you want," she said firmly. "I won't apologize for protecting Faye."

Film laughed, a cold, hollow sound. "Protecting her? From me?" She gestured to herself mockingly. "Do you even know what I was planning to do in Thailand?"

"I know enough," Namtan said, though her voice wavered slightly.

"Do you?" Film countered sharply, stepping closer. Her presence was magnetic, her tone biting, each word a lash. "Because if you did, you'd realize you're just a reckless woman who doesn't think before she acts."

Namtan bristled at the accusation, her fists clenching tightly at her sides. "You don't know me," she shot back, her voice taut with barely suppressed anger.

Film tilted her head, her eyes narrowing sharply. "Oh, but I know your type. Charging in like some self-righteous savior, acting like you're the only one who knows what's best. Do you even stop to think about the fallout, or do you just thrive on chaos? And don't give me that bullshit about not knowing you—because you don't know me either! Yet here you are, accusing me of things you know nothing about!"

Before Namtan could muster a retort, Film pressed on, her voice lowering into something more raw, more vulnerable.

"Do you really think I'd sabotage Faye's happiness?" she asked, her words cutting like shards of glass. "After everything she's been through? After everything we've been through?"

Her voice cracked just slightly on the last word, but she masked it quickly, replacing the slip with a sharp, defensive edge.

Namtan's confusion deepened, her righteous anger faltering. "What are you talking about?" she demanded, though her voice lacked its earlier conviction.

Film shook her head, a bitter smile curling her lips. It was a smile filled with history and pain—a smile that said she'd seen more than Namtan could begin to imagine. "You think you know everything about our past," Film said, her tone thick with disdain. "But you're clueless."

Namtan's frown deepened, the seeds of doubt planting themselves firmly in her mind. "Then tell me," she challenged, stepping forward as if to close the distance between them. Her voice softened slightly, her earlier bravado tempered by uncertainty. "If you're so sure I'm wrong, explain yourself."

Film leaned back against the wall, crossing her arms in a motion that seemed both protective and defiant. Her gaze swept over Namtan, assessing her with a mixture of exasperation and pity. "I don't have to explain anything to you," she said coldly, her words landing with the weight of finality.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy, filled with unsaid truths and lingering tensions. Namtan opened her mouth to speak, but the look in Film's eyes stopped her—those eyes, filled with something deeper than anger, something raw and untouchable.

"I know you think you're protecting her," Film said, her voice quieter now, almost contemplative. "But did it ever occur to you that you didn't need to protect her from me? That maybe—just maybe—I'm not capable of sabotaging her happiness?"

Her words lingered in the air, slicing through Namtan's resolve like a blade. Namtan wanted to push back, to throw out a retort, but for the first time since this confrontation began, she found herself at a loss.

Film's gaze hardened, her voice steady but laced with undeniable hurt. "Exactly. You never thought I couldn't hurt her, did you? To you—and to everyone else—I'm the villain in our story. Even my own family thinks I wanted to hurt Faye. But kidnapping me? Holding a gun to my head? Sedating me  to make me unconscious? Do you honestly believe I deserve that?"

Her words struck with brutal precision, leaving Namtan stunned into silence. "Get out." Film didn't wait for a response. She turned away, her composure intact but her posture stiff, as if holding herself together by sheer will.

Reluctantly, Namtan crossed the room, leaving Film alone with the weight of her words and the unsettling questions they carried.

---

When Film heard the door close and was certain Namtan had left, the floodgates opened. Tears streamed down her face—tears of anger, frustration, and heartbreak.

What do these people want from her? She had let go of Faye—at least she believed they knew that when she made her public announcement. Yet, treating her as if she were the villain in their story was too much to bear. Film knew she had hurt Faye; she was the reason their relationship ended, the reason Faye had stopped believing in love—until Yoko came along. But she had accepted that guilt. She had lived with it.

Perhaps it was her fault for joking with her manager at the café Namtan had mentioned. But it had only been a joke. Her manager had told her about being invited to the opening of a store for a brand she was an ambassador for in Thailand—the same day as Faye's wedding. They laughed at the irony, and Film had quipped something careless. But it was just a joke. She hadn't meant it. Yet, somehow, Namtan had taken it seriously, leading to this absurd situation.

"I'm not a bad person," Film whispered to herself, her voice cracking under the weight of her emotions. The tears kept flowing.

She loved Faye. God knows she did. Their social statuses were worlds apart—Film's family wasn't poor, but they were nothing compared to Faye's. Film's mother, a Filipino doctor who had settled in Switzerland and married her father, a school principal, had worked hard for everything they had. But Faye came from the wealthiest family in the Philippines, and none of that mattered to Film. From the start, it was Faye's heart, mind, and soul that captivated her. Faye was the sweetest, kindest, and smartest person she had ever met. Her brilliance shone in everything she did.

Film remembered the first time they met at school. Faye, a shy girl from the Philippines, was undeniably the smartest in their class. While everyone else was too intimidated to approach her, Film wasn't. She introduced herself and struck up a friendship, often speaking in English since Faye was still learning German. Over time, their bond deepened. They moved from friends to something more, and Faye became the center of Film's world. They were each other's first love. When Film told her parents she might be in love with a girl, they were shocked at first. But when she mentioned it was Faye—her best friend from school—they understood and accepted it.

The same was true with Faye's family. Despite their differences, they welcomed Film with open arms. Faye's parents accepted their relationship, and her brother joined their outings whenever her family visited. Film's sister often tagged along too. For a while, everything was perfect.

But even then, a shadow loomed. While Faye excelled academically, earning her master's degree and mapping out her future, Film struggled to find her path. She didn't know what she wanted to do with her life until her mother suggested acting, reminding her of how much she loved it as a child. Film threw herself into studying theater and found herself discovered during a play. A producer offered her an opportunity to audition for a show in New York—a small role, but a start.

Her parents were supportive, but they asked the inevitable question: "Have you talked to Faye about this?"

Film hadn't. When she finally told Faye, Faye smiled, hugged her, and promised to support her dreams. They agreed to try long-distance. For the first month, they were inseparable through calls and messages, but as Film's schedule grew hectic, the calls dwindled. Faye, ever understanding, kept reaching out, even when Film couldn't reply.

Then came the day when Film was truly too busy to reply to Faye or call her. Balancing her theater work and studies left her overwhelmed. One night, Faye showed up unannounced at Film's apartment, waiting on the steps with flowers and groceries. Film was deeply touched by the gesture.

They spent two blissful days together, cherishing each other's company before Faye had to return to her studies. Before she left, Film promised to stay in touch more often, determined to bridge the distance between them.

But everything changed when Film got her big break. A renowned producer spotted her in a live theater performance and invited her to audition for the lead role in an adaptation of a best-selling book series. It was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity—six series, all centered around the character she would play.

During the meeting, the producer casually asked if Film was in a relationship. When she admitted that she was, and with a woman, the producer immediately suggested she end it.

Film was stunned. "I can't do that," she said, her voice steady but tinged with disbelief.

The producer's response was cold, calculated, and blunt. "If you can't, then maybe you're not as desperate for this role as I thought. I'm asking you this because the series will include love scenes, and we need to create a love team that people will believe is real. The audience needs to feel that connection, and being involved with a woman won't get you anywhere in your career. People are judgmental, and the series will demand all your time."

The ultimatum hung in the air, suffocating her. Film's thoughts spiraled, torn between her career and her love for Faye. She thought about Faye's bright future, about how she would pale in comparison to Faye's brilliance if she let this opportunity slip away. But, more than anything, Film knew Faye too well. She knew how deeply Faye loved her, how Faye would sacrifice everything just to be with her.

Film told herself that ending things was for the best—for both of them. Faye deserved a future as brilliant as she was, and Film couldn't bear the thought of holding her back. If she stayed with her, she wouldn't be able to give Faye the time and attention she needed. Worse, she feared that Faye might one day resent her for it. The weight of that realization was crushing. Film admitted, despite the pain, that this was the right choice.

So, she did the unthinkable. She made Faye hate her.

When the new cast was announced at a press conference, a reporter asked Film if she was single. She said yes. It was a lie that shattered Faye.

Faye called, desperate for clarification, but Film ignored her. Even as she cried herself to sleep every night, rereading Faye's messages, she blocked her number. She knew Faye would come and see her so she moved out of her apartment and into a condo leased to her by her producer. She told no one of her new address, not even her family. Her neighbor from her old apartment had mentioned that Faye came by almost every day, looking for her, waiting for her.

It took every ounce of strength for Film not to go to her, not to fall back into her arms. She spent countless nights weeping, overwhelmed by the knowledge that they were both in pain yet powerless to bridge the gap. The weight of their shared anguish felt insurmountable.

After nearly a year of Faye's persistent attempts to reconnect, Film's silence finally drove her away. And once again, Film felt as though a part of her had died.

The last time she heard, Faye wasn't starting the brand she always talked about. Instead, she was volunteering in Africa. Film was confused by this, as she knew Faye had always dreamed of starting a brand, but she also understood Faye's caring nature and her soft spot for children.

While Film's career soared, she found no joy in it. Alone in her apartment, clutching the stuffed toy Faye had given her, she cried for the love she'd lost.

The next time she saw Faye was at her sister's wedding—to Faye's brother. Film had promised to be there but wasn't prepared for the encounter. Faye was radiant, standing beside Sonya, Faye's best friend.

Film wanted to talk to her, to apologize, to confess that she had never stopped loving her. But Faye acted as though Film didn't exist. The cold indifference cut deeper than any words could.

Unable to endure the pain, Film left the wedding early. She apologized to her sister, who understood. But from that moment on, Film realized she was still hopelessly and desperately in love with Faye—and she wanted her back.

However, when Film decided to reach out to Faye again, she was informed of a new role that promised awards and recognition. The plan to reconnect with Faye was pushed aside as Film became consumed with acting and winning accolades. It wasn't until one day, when she saw Faye City featured in the news worn by Lalisa Manoban, the world-famous singer, that her heart raced. Film's suspicion was confirmed when she searched for the brand and discovered it was Faye's. She cried, realizing Faye was finally achieving her dream and succeeding.

Film's thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door, followed by Namtan's voice. "The food's ready now. I know you're hungry. Please come out and eat."

Film scoffed, about to ignore the knock, but then her stomach betrayed her. She was hungry—and angry—and that was never a good combination. Before she could rethink it, she got up, fixed herself in the bathroom, and went out.

AUTHOR'S NOTES:

This chapter is dedicated to some truly incredible individuals whose support and encouragement have been a constant source of inspiration. I would like to extend my heartfelt thanks to:

@thirlwallslvr

@PujiRahayu712795

@yunanggie123

@JuliaSamuelleMarino

Your unwavering support, kindness, and votes have truly made a difference, and I am so grateful for each of you. Your belief in this story has fueled my creativity and kept me motivated throughout this journey. Thank you for standing by me, and for your dedication to this project. This chapter is as much yours as it is mine!