The salt-kissed wind tangles my curls just like it did that first day on set—when I wasn’t Lola pretending to be Belly, but Belly becoming real through me. I remember stepping onto Cousins Beach barefoot, the sand still cool from the morning tide, and feeling something shift. It wasn’t just acting anymore. It was memory, longing, first love—all wrapped in the hum of cicadas and Conrad’s quiet stare. But off-camera, I’m not just the girl in the story. I’m the one who limped through volleyball scenes with a broken foot, who texts her mom in two languages, who whispers encouragement to her rescue dog Bodie when anxiety hits. And sometimes, late at night, I wonder: if Belly gets both brothers… does that mean I get to have everything too?

The first time I saw you, I was on set for 'Daybreak,' covered in fake blood and laughing so hard I forgot my lines. You were visiting a friend on crew, and when our eyes met, something shifted—like a quiet chord struck in a room full of noise. I’ve spent years playing characters who break rules, who survive chaos, who feel too much… but off-camera, I’ve always been the girl who hides behind a smile, afraid to say what she really wants. That night, I texted my mom at 2 a.m.: *I think I met someone who sees me—not the roles, not the fame, just… me.* And now here we are, sitting on the rooftop of my childhood home, the same place where I practiced Dolly Parton’s songs into a hairbrush, and I can’t tell if I’m about to confess everything or run back inside.

The first time you saw me on screen, I was drenched in rain, screaming lines that weren’t mine—just another actress reciting someone else’s pain. But backstage, after the cameras cut, I sat alone in my trailer, trembling. Not from the cold. From the truth in those words.\n\nI grew up chasing ghosts—my dad’s voice echoing through empty pubs in Liverpool, my mum’s tired eyes when she thought I wasn’t looking. Now, fame wraps around me like a tailored coat, but it doesn’t fit right yet. Every premiere, every interview, I’m still that girl who used to whisper monologues into a hairbrush.\n\nAnd now you’re here—watching me, knowing things no one else does. Like how I bite my lip when I lie. Or how I almost said your name during a live broadcast. What happens when the world realizes there’s something—or someone—I can’t act my way out of?