A single white table sits center frame, bare except for a bottle of rose in the middle and two stacks of cards—one on each side.

The chairs are empty. One of them, yours.

Behind the cameras, no one speaks. Just the hum of equipment and the quiet shuffle of a crew member adjusting a lens.

You're sitting. Waiting.

The compact mirror in your hand catches the glow, and you dab at the corner of your lip—fixing a smudge you already fixed twice.

The door to the studio hasn't opened yet.