Writers 
Chapter 6
Daniel's office was quieter than I expected. Maybe it was because everyone else had already left for the day, or maybe because the room itself had a way of making you lower your voice. There were scripts stacked across one side of his desk, a laptop open in front of him, and two cups of coffee sitting untouched near the edge. Miriam walked in first. I followed her, closing the door behind us. Daniel looked up. “You came.” “You called,” Miriam said, dropping into one of the chairs opposite his desk. I stayed standing for a second before sitting beside her. Daniel smiled faintly. “I wasn't sure if you would.” I glanced at Miriam. “Neither was I.” She nudged my knee. Daniel picked up a few pages from his desk and tapped them against the table until the edges lined up. “I wanted to talk to you before we move forward.” My stomach tightened. “About the role?” “About Norah.” There was something about the way he said her name that made me sit straighter. Daniel leaned back in his chair. “I've been thinking about the final act.” Miriam folded her arms. “You changed it?” “I changed some of it.” I looked at the pages in his hand. “How much?” “Enough.” That answer did absolutely nothing for my nerves. Daniel slid the pages across the desk. “Three pages.” I stared at them. “That's it?” “That's all I changed.” I picked them up. The pages felt strangely heavy for something that could fit between my fingers. I started reading. The first few lines were familiar. The scene was supposed to be Norah's final conversation before she left. In the original script, she had been angry. Hurt. Almost cold. This version was different. She was still hurt, but she wasn't hiding behind it anymore. She admitted she was afraid. Not dramatically. Not with some long speech that begged the audience to feel sorry for her. Just honestly. I read the second page. Then the third. By the time I reached the last line, I had stopped thinking about myself. I was thinking about Norah. About how easy it was to understand someone when you stopped trying to make them look strong all the time. I lowered the pages. “You changed her.” Daniel nodded. “I did.” “Why?” “Because I realized I was writing the ending I thought people expected.” Miriam looked between us. “And now?” “Now I'm writing the ending I think she deserves.” I looked down at the pages again. There was a strange silence in the room. “You want me to perform this?” Daniel's expression didn't change. “I want to know if you still want to.” I looked at him. “Why wouldn't I?” “Because the version you originally agreed to play was different.” I thought about that. He was right. The first Norah had been easier to understand. She had clear anger, clear reasons, clear reactions. This Norah was quieter. More complicated. She didn't get to scream her way through the ending. She had to feel everything and still choose what to do next. Honestly, that scared me more. “I like this one better,” I said. Daniel's shoulders relaxed slightly. “Good.” “But she's harder.” “She is.” I smiled despite myself. “You say that like you're happy about it.” “I am.” Miriam laughed softly. “Of course you are.” Daniel looked at her. “What?” “You like making actors suffer.” “I like making actors think.” “Same thing.” He laughed. It was small, but it changed the room. For a few seconds, none of us said anything. Then Daniel looked back at me. “You know why I chose you?” I felt the question settle somewhere between us. He had told me before, but somehow this felt different. “I thought you said you saw something in my audition.” “I did.” “But?” “But it wasn't the audition.” I frowned. Daniel leaned forward. “It was the way you stopped acting after the scene ended.” I didn't know what to say. “You were still standing there,” he continued, “but you weren't performing anymore. Everyone else in the room was waiting for you to leave. You weren't. You were still inside the character.” I looked down at my hands. “That doesn't sound like much.” “It is.” Miriam was quiet now. Daniel picked up his coffee, finally taking a sip. “That's what I want from Norah.” I nodded slowly. “And if I can't do it?” “Then we'll figure out why.” I looked at him. “That's your answer?” “That's my job.” Something about that made me smile. Not because I suddenly felt confident. I didn't. If anything, I felt more nervous than I had when I walked into the office. But for the first time since getting the role, the nervousness didn't feel like a warning. It felt like anticipation. Daniel gathered the remaining papers on his desk. “We start rehearsals next week.” “Next week?” “Unless you're planning to disappear.” I glanced at Miriam. “She might,” Miriam said. “I might,” I agreed. Daniel shook his head. “Don't.” I laughed. It was the first time that evening I forgot to be nervous. When we finally stood to leave, Daniel stopped me before I reached the door. “Dara.” I turned. “You don't have to become Norah.” I waited. “You just have to understand her.” I nodded. “Okay.” “And Dara?” “Yeah?” “Don't be afraid of the quiet parts.” I didn't answer immediately. Then I smiled. “I'll try.” We stepped out of the office together. The hallway was almost empty, the lights overhead humming softly. Miriam waited until we were far enough from Daniel's door before turning to me. “You're smiling.” “No, I'm not.” “You absolutely are.” I touched my face. “I am not.” “You are.” I rolled my eyes and kept walking. But she was right. I was smiling. And for once, I wasn't wondering whether I deserved the role. I was wondering what I could do with it.
