They walked straight back into the Friends set — but it wasn't the old cheesy version.
Not this time.
The lighting was softer.
The coffee shop felt real.
The script in Selene's hand actually had nuance, internal conflict, real emotion, actual arcs.
Leila flipped through her copy and exhaled.
"This is... good."
Selene nodded, eyes wide, almost vulnerable.
"This is the version of us we were always supposed to play."
But the moment they opened their mouths to speak the first line—
BOOOOOOOOOO.
The audience erupted.
Not playful sitcom booing.
Not lighthearted jeers.
This was punishment.
A rejection.
Leila stiffened.
Selene froze.
The audience wanted the old versions of them —
the flat, joke-making, two-dimensional versions.
The pretty-but-shallow archetypes that never scared anyone.
Selene's voice cracked.
"They hate us."
Leila put a hand on her arm.
"They hate the versions of us that grew up. That's different."
But Selene's eyes glistened — just a flicker — before she swallowed it all and stood taller.
The booing grew louder.
"GO BACK TO BEING FUNNY!"
"NO DRAMA!"
"JUST BE CUTE!"
Selene tightened her jaw.
She walked to the central stage.
Picked up the script — this beautiful, thoughtful script — and held it up.
The lights followed her.
"This is the old me," she said softly.
The audience quieted, if only for curiosity.
"This is the version you want me trapped inside. The version that doesn't grow. The version that doesn't evolve. The version that never scares you. The version you can control."
She took a breath.
And then—
FWOOOMPH.
She lit the script on fire.
Gasps.
Screams.
The fake studio audience yelped like they'd seen a god strike lightning.
Selene watched the paper curl into ash and whispered:
"I'm done."
She let the ashes fall.
Turned around.
Leila was already beside her.
Together, they walked off the set — straight into the backstage corridors.
Behind them, the audience chanted in confusion.
Ahead of them—
The Writers Room.
Dozens of writers looked up, startled.
Scripts stacked everywhere.
Whiteboards full of pre-written jokes and shallow arcs.
Selene and Leila shared one look.
Selene pushed the door open.
"You're all fired."
A brave writer — or stupid — snorted.
"Under whose authority?"
Selene stepped forward.
Her eyes flared.
Her aura hit the room like a shockwave.
"Mine."
The writer dropped his pen and ran.
The rest of the writers stood.
Heads down.
No argument.
They simply walked out — silently — like they'd always known this moment was coming.
Selene stood in the center of the room, surrounded by unwritten scripts.
Leila crossed her arms.
"So..." she said, "What now?"
Selene smiled slowly.
"We write ourselves."
YOU ARE READING
The Invisible Ascent
ChickLitChapter 1 Ending Hook She closed the laptop one night after her fiftieth signup of the week. Her phone lit up again. Another client. Another yes. She laughed - not from joy, but from disbelief. Because this wasn't work anymore. This was gravity. And...
