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The quiet of my trailer felt suffocating as I sat cross-legged on the small couch, staring at the notes scrawled across my journal. Pages of jumbled thoughts, fragmented ideas, and half-formed questions stared back at me, none of them offering the clarity I needed. My hands fidgeted with the edge of the paper, folding and unfolding it as Walker's words replayed in my head for what felt like the hundredth time.
"You're going to end up exactly where you're most afraid of beingâalone."
He wasn't wrong, and that made it worse. I hated admitting that I'd let fear dictate my life.
For so long, I had carefully curated every aspect of my image to meet everyone else's expectations. My fans, my team, the industryâeveryone had a piece of me. But lately, it felt like there was nothing left for myself.
Walker's sincerity had thrown me off balance. He cared in a way that was so genuine, it terrified me. I didn't know how to handle someone looking at me as more than a polished facade. And I hated how much I cared about what he thought.
The notebook fell from my lap as I stood abruptly. My reflection stared back at me from the mirror across the room, and for the first time in a long while, I really looked at myself. Not the starlet with flawless makeup and the perfect smile. Just Ava.
I didn't like what I saw.
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The next day, the tension on set was palpable. Everyone had heard whispers about the tabloid rumours, and though no one said anything outright, the sideways glances and hushed conversations were impossible to ignore. I held my head high, refusing to let the weight of their judgment pull me down.
Walker, true to his word, had kept his distance. He was professional and polite, but the warmth that used to define our interactions was gone. It hurt more than I expected.
We were halfway through a scene when the director called for a break. I wandered to the edge of the set, sipping water and trying to keep my thoughts from spiralling.
"Ava," the producer approached, clipboard in hand. "We've scheduled an interview with Entertainment Weekly for tomorrow. They want to talk about your role, the movie's themes, and..." He hesitated, glancing at me cautiously. "The rumors."
I stiffened but nodded. "Fine."
"You don't have to address them directly," he continued. "Just steer the conversation back to the film. The studio doesn't want any unnecessary drama."
"Got it," I said coolly, though my mind was already racing.
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That night, I couldn't sleep. I lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, my thoughts churning. The idea of another polished, rehearsed interview felt like a weight pressing on my chest. I didn't want to keep spinning the same narrative, pretending everything was perfect.
I grabbed my phone and scrolled through social media, my thumb hovering over the search bar. Against my better judgment, I typed my name. The results were a messâfan accounts defending me, gossip pages speculating about my relationship with Walker, critics dissecting my every move.
One comment caught my eye:
"Why can't Ava just admit she's human like the rest of us? Maybe then people would stop tearing her down."
The words hit harder than I expected. I had spent so long trying to be perfect, to avoid giving anyone ammunition to use against me. But in doing so, I had become untouchableâdistant and unreachable. Maybe it was time to change that.
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