The sound of pretend
Chapter One – The Sound of Pretend
The room smelled like coffee and deadlines.
Mia Taylor sat in front of her screen, headphones hugging her ears, eyes flicking from clip to clip — laughter, kisses, and tears, all edited into something that looked like love. She was a video editor for Love Locked, the nation’s most-watched reality dating show — a show built on filters, retakes, and clever soundtracks that could make heartbreak sound romantic.
On her monitor, two contestants were arguing. The woman’s mascara ran perfectly down her cheeks, while the man clenched his fists just enough to look passionate, not dangerous. Mia adjusted the timing of his reaction — half a second delay, just to make him seem more human.
She pressed play again.
This time, it was perfect.
Her supervisor’s voice cut through her concentration.
“Taylor! We need that breakup scene ready by six.”
“Almost done,” she said, eyes still glued to the screen.
The man on the monitor, Ryan Cole — the show’s fan favorite — stormed out of the frame. But something caught Mia’s attention. His eyes, right before he left, weren’t acting. They were tired. Real. As if he’d slipped out of his role for one raw second.
She slowed the footage.
Ryan turned back and muttered something — quiet, unscripted, not meant for broadcast. Mia turned up the volume.
“You can’t fake love forever.”
The line wasn’t in the script.
Her heart stumbled. She rewound, played it again. The raw tone in his voice — rough, steady, true — didn’t fit the show’s glossy illusion. It belonged to someone real, someone she wasn’t supposed to see.
For a moment, Mia forgot about deadlines, forgot about audience expectations. She just watched. And the more she did, the more she realized — Ryan wasn’t pretending anymore.
When she exported the cut, she saved that tiny unscripted moment into a separate folder, labeled RAW_UNFILTERED_CLIPS. A habit she’d formed — little glimpses of truth she couldn’t bring herself to delete.
The day ended late, like most days did. The studio emptied, the lights dimmed, and Mia stayed behind. Her reflection glowed faintly on the black monitor screen — a tired woman editing love for other people.
She unplugged her headphones, ready to shut down. Then her cursor hovered over a new file that wasn’t there before.
UNSEEN_FOOTAGE_RYAN_COLE.mp4
Her brow furrowed. No one sent files directly to editors.
She opened it.
Ryan was sitting alone in the dark set, the fairy lights still on behind him. He stared straight into the camera, like he knew someone — she — would find this.
“If you’re watching this,” he said quietly, “then you see what they don’t. I’m done pretending.”
The clip ended there.
Mia just sat there, frozen — the hum of the computer the only sound in the room.
For the first time, the girl who edited illusions began to wonder if she was about to live one of her own.
