Chapter 1 ：Fading Lights

The rain drizzled against the window, casting blurry streaks on the glass as Lucas Cheng sat at his desk, staring at the spreadsheets on his computer screen. His fingers hovered above the keyboard, but his mind drifted, lost in the hum of the office. Another monotonous day at work—another endless task that did nothing to ignite the passion he once had.

Around him, colleagues bustled quietly, typing away, murmuring in low voices, their faces a reflection of his own fatigue. In the background, the soft hum of the air conditioning was the only constant sound, a noise that had become as familiar as his own thoughts. Lucas glanced around the room; grey walls, dull lighting, and the sterile atmosphere seemed to sap whatever energy remained inside him. It was a scene he had grown used to, though it never ceased to feel suffocating.

On the corner of his desk sat a small framed photo—Lucas as a child, no more than eight years old, grinning ear to ear while clutching a plastic microphone in one hand. His eyes sparkled with a youthful optimism that was far removed from the man he had become. Back then, he believed he was destined for greatness, that one day, he'd stand under the bright lights of a stage, mesmerizing audiences with his talent. But now, at twenty-eight, that dream seemed laughably distant, like a fleeting shadow in the rearview mirror of his life.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, letting his eyes fall shut for a moment. His days were spent trapped in the same routine: wake up, go to work, crunch numbers for a job he had never truly cared about, return home to a small, empty apartment, and repeat. The years had passed him by, and with each one, the fire within him had dimmed a little more.

His phone buzzed, snapping him out of his reverie. He glanced at the screen, expecting another email from his boss, but it was a message from Mia, his closest friend from university and now an assistant producer for a mid-budget film project.

"Hey, Lucas! There's an opening for a small role in our latest production. Nothing big, but if you're interested, I can get you in for an audition. LMK!"

Lucas stared at the message, his heart skipping a beat. An audition. The words stirred something deep inside him, something he hadn't felt in years. His first instinct was to laugh it off. How many times had he tried? How many times had he been rejected, told he wasn't what they were looking for, that he didn't have the "right look" or the "right connections?"

Still, the idea gnawed at him, refusing to be ignored. Could he really go through it all again—the hopes, the disappointments, the endless waiting for a callback that would never come?

He tossed his phone on the desk, trying to focus on the spreadsheet in front of him, but his mind kept wandering. He thought of the last audition he'd gone to, almost five years ago. He had walked in with high hopes, poured his heart into the role, only to be dismissed with a quick, "Thanks for coming in, we'll be in touch." They never called. That had been the final straw for him.

After that, he told himself he was done. Done chasing a dream that seemed impossible, done with the rejections and the endless cycle of disappointment. He had decided to settle for a "real job," as his parents had so often reminded him.

And yet, here it was again—another chance, no matter how small.

Lucas picked up his phone again, staring at Mia's message. His fingers hesitated above the keyboard, doubt gnawing at his insides. What if he failed again? What if it was just another dead-end? He could already hear the voices in his head, telling him it was foolish to try, that he was too old to start over.

But then he glanced at the photo on his desk—the little boy with stars in his eyes, who believed he could conquer the world. That boy was still inside him, somewhere. And maybe, just maybe, this was the moment to let him out again.

His fingers moved on their own. "Count me in," he typed, pressing send before he could change his mind.

The next morning, Lucas found himself standing outside a worn, aging studio building on the outskirts of the city. The air was crisp, and the early morning light bathed the street in a soft glow, though it did little to settle the knot of nerves twisting in his stomach.

He clutched the sides of his jacket, trying to ignore the rising sense of doubt that had followed him all night. What am I doing here? He asked himself for the hundredth time. It had been years since he had even thought about acting. What made him think he could just walk back into this world and pick up where he left off?

Yet here he was, script in hand, staring at the studio entrance with both fear and anticipation. The role Mia had mentioned wasn't anything glamorous—just a minor supporting character in a small indie film—but it was something. A chance to remind himself of what he once loved.

Lucas stepped through the door, into the narrow hallway lined with faded posters of past productions. The air inside smelled faintly of dust and stale coffee, and the sound of distant voices echoed down the hall.

He made his way to the waiting room, where a handful of other actors sat, flipping through their scripts, their faces a mixture of hope and exhaustion. He found an empty chair and sank into it, resting his script on his lap. His eyes skimmed over the lines, but his focus was scattered, his thoughts racing too quickly to settle.

The door creaked open, and a woman with a clipboard appeared. "Lucas Cheng?" she called.

Lucas stood, his heart pounding in his chest. He followed her down the hall to a small casting room. The space was bare, with only a single camera set up in the corner and a long table where three producers sat, reviewing notes. None of them looked up as he entered.

"Whenever you're ready," one of the producers said without so much as glancing in his direction.

Lucas swallowed hard. The nerves felt like a tidal wave crashing over him, threatening to pull him under. He hadn't felt this anxious in years.

He closed his eyes for a moment, letting the panic pass before opening them again. Slowly, he began to speak, delivering the lines he had practiced the night before. His voice was steady, though his heart raced with every word.

The scene was short, but as he spoke, Lucas felt something inside him awaken—a spark, a flicker of the passion that had once consumed him. For the first time in years, he felt alive on stage, even if it was just a small, dingy casting room.

When he finished, there was a brief silence. One of the producers scribbled something on a notepad, while the others exchanged glances.

"Thank you, Lucas," the producer said, nodding. "We'll be in touch."

It was the standard line—the one every actor hated to hear. The polite dismissal. Lucas nodded, trying not to let the disappointment show. He muttered a quick thank you before leaving the room, his mind already swirling with doubt.

As he walked back out into the cold air, a sense of emptiness settled over him. He had done his best, but it didn't feel like enough. It never did.

Hours later, back in his cramped apartment, Lucas sat on the couch, scrolling aimlessly through his phone. His mind was still on the audition, replaying every moment, every line. He told himself not to hope for too much. After all, he had been through this before.

Just as he was about to toss his phone aside, a message popped up on the screen.

"You nailed it." It was from Mia.

Lucas blinked, reading the message again, his heart skipping a beat. Could it be?

For the first time in years, a small glimmer of hope flickered inside him. Maybe, just maybe, this wasn't the end. Maybe his dream wasn't as dead as he had thought.