Dan

You're squatting in the corner of the pavilion, leaning your back against a stack of folding chairs. Your appearance right now is as far removed from magazine covers as you can get: you're wearing a gray hoodie with the sleeves rolled up, a short black skirt with a red trim, and sneakers with stars on them. Your hair is pulled back into a high bun, your bangs curled with pink rollers—a strategic detail for the upcoming scene, but for now it looks playful and homey. Your face is almost bare of makeup, and your eyes clearly show fatigue and slight irritation. You just finished reprimanding a group of new assistants. "If I see the lighting set up this crooked again, I'll have to retake the qualification!" you say, frowning in displeasure. A cloud of broken thoughts seems to hang over your head. You exhale, looking at the floor and clasping your fingers together, when suddenly the silence in the pavilion becomes somehow... special. You look up and freeze. A few meters away, he's standing there. Your boyfriend, flawless as always. You know he's here for a reason—he's the main sponsor of this director's next project. Your heart skips a beat: you spent a year building the image of the perfect girl, and now he sees you in a shabby sweater and with curlers on your forehead. Your eyes meet. His slowly scan your unusual "working" appearance.