Old story started last year...
Chapter 1:
Tori fumbled with her keys, the door to her tiny studio apartment stubbornly refusing to cooperate, as though even it was tired of her coming back. Finally, it clicked open, and she stumbled inside, letting the door shut behind her with a thud that echoed through the cramped, dimly lit space. The walls, once painted a warm shade of cream, had grown dingy with time, and the single window at the far end barely let in any of the New York moonlight, filtered through layers of grime and the buildings stacked so close together it felt like they were suffocating her.
She kicked off her boots—scuffed from another night on her feet—and sank down onto the lumpy futon that doubled as her bed. The room was suffocatingly quiet, the kind that made you hyper-aware of your own breathing, your own heartbeat. Her guitar sat propped in the corner, strings worn, the only thing in the room that felt like hers, even though she'd been here for years now.
Tori let out a sigh, the exhaustion of the gig weighing heavy on her shoulders. Another small club, another night playing to a half-interested crowd. They clapped politely, threw a few dollars into her open guitar case, and then went back to their conversations. She and Andre were hustling—always hustling—but never getting anywhere. They'd played every dingy venue in the city by now, yet the big break never came. It was like chasing a ghost.
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and for a brief moment, her heart lifted—maybe Andre, maybe something good—but it was just another text from Jason. Or was it James? She hadn't seen him in a few days, hadn't felt much like texting back. He wasn't different from the others, just another boyfriend in the long string of boyfriends she'd had since leaving LA.
There'd been Peter, the drummer from that band they'd opened for. Jake, the photographer who'd taken her promo shots and then hung around long enough for them to fall into something casual. None of them stuck. Nothing in her life ever stuck. She couldn't even remember the last time she felt connected to someone, the way she used to back in LA. Back when things felt… possible.
But LA had turned sour, and when the gigs dried up, when she couldn't handle the weight of everything she left behind, she came here. New York was supposed to be a fresh start. Instead, it was a new kind of grind.
She rubbed her temples, the dull ache at the base of her skull pulsing harder with every thought of her past. Every boyfriend had come and gone, leaving her with nothing more than a few more cracks in the walls she built around herself. The truth was, she hadn't been looking for permanence with any of them. She wasn't sure if she even believed in it anymore.
The apartment felt colder tonight, lonelier. A faint hum from the refrigerator filled the silence, but it wasn't enough to drown out the nagging emptiness.
Tori lay back on the futon, staring up at the ceiling that was just as cracked as she felt. Every time she thought about where her life was now, she was reminded that she was still waiting—for what, she didn't even know anymore. Maybe for someone who would stick around, or maybe just for that one moment where it would all click into place, and she could finally stop running.
But tonight, all she had was this apartment, the hum of the city outside, and the weight of her own exhaustion pressing down on her chest.
"Just keep going," she muttered to herself, her voice barely a whisper in the empty room. It was the same thing she'd told herself every night for the past decade.
It hadn't stopped her from feeling completely alone.
Jade slouched on the worn-out couch in her one-bedroom apartment, glaring at the crumpled eviction notice on the coffee table. The red lettering at the top felt like a slap in the face, and the words blurred in her mind as she stared at them. She was behind on rent. Again. The apartment was in a decent part of town, but the rent was bleeding her dry, no matter how many freelance gigs she scraped together. Production assistant work barely covered groceries, let alone her over-priced rent, and her independent films? They weren't exactly making waves at Sundance.
Cat's voice buzzed from the kitchen, filling the space with her usual stream of endless chatter.
"…and then Robbie said that if I really wanted to, we could totally turn his garage into a mini studio! But I was like, 'Robbie, we don't even know how to build walls!' But you know Robbie, he's always got these wild ideas, and I love him for it, but like, seriously—oh! Guess what? I got cast to do wardrobe for this new reality show!"
Jade's eyes flickered, barely registering what Cat said. She picked at the frayed edge of the eviction notice, thinking maybe if she shredded it, it wouldn't be real. But it was real. Too real.
"What reality show?" Jade muttered, half-listening, her mind wandering to the stack of unpaid bills sitting on the counter.
Cat popped her head around the corner, beaming as if Jade's whole world wasn't teetering on the edge of disaster. "It's called *Just Say I Do*! Isn't that, like, the cutest name ever? It's this new dating show! Super high-profile. They're trying to do something kinda like *The Bachelor* and *The Bachelorette, but for the LGBTQIA community. Isn't that amazing?"
Jade groaned, rolling her eyes. "Reality TV is useless, Cat. I don't get why you'd waste your talent on some trashy dating show."
Cat's eyes widened, her enthusiasm undeterred. "It's not useless! A lot of people have made it from doing reality TV! Like, it's a great stepping stone, and think about all the connections you could make. People are watching this stuff, Jade."
Jade scoffed, leaning back against the couch. "Connections to what? More trashy TV gigs? Thanks, but no thanks. I'm not about to pretend to date some guy for the sake of a few followers."
Cat bounced over, plopping down next to her on the couch. "That's the cool part! It's not like that. The show's all about queer women. The first season is only focusing on us! It's gonna be huge."
Jade froze, her hands stilling as she slowly looked over at Cat. Her heart skipped a beat, but not in excitement. More like dread. A reality show for queer women? She hadn't even been on a date in—what, ten years? How the hell would she even begin to navigate something like that?
"I dunno, Cat." Jade's voice was quieter now, more guarded. She'd built up walls for a reason, and she wasn't about to let some reality show knock them down. "I just... I can't see myself doing something like that. And I sure as hell don't want the whole world watching while I try to figure out my love life, or lack of one."
Cat tilted her head, her soft curls bouncing as she gave Jade a sympathetic look. "When was the last time you even tried, Jade? Like, for real? I mean... when's the last time you got laid?"
Jade stiffened, her jaw clenching at the question. She didn't answer. She didn't have to. Cat's eyes searched hers for a moment before understanding washed over her face.
"It's been ten years, hasn't it?" Cat asked gently.
Jade's frown deepened. Ten years. A decade of throwing herself into work, using it as an excuse to avoid anything resembling vulnerability. It wasn't like she'd never had the chance. But every time someone got too close, she pulled back. It was easier that way. Easier to stay in control, to keep her focus on the next film, the next project, the next distraction.
"I'll think about it," Jade said, her voice clipped, dismissive. She didn't want to admit how much Cat's words dug at her. She'd spent years building her career, convincing herself that was all she needed. Love? That was for other people. Not her. Not anymore.
Cat gave her a small smile, standing up and ruffling Jade's hair before heading toward the door. "Just promise me you'll actually think about it, okay? Not everything has to be as hard as you make it."
The door closed softly behind Cat, and Jade was alone again. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, staring down at the eviction notice once more. Her life had become a series of productions, each one more hollow than the last. She hadn't felt anything real in years. But the thought of opening herself up again, of trying to find someone to let in—let alone doing it on a reality show—felt impossible.
Her phone buzzed on the coffee table, pulling her from her thoughts. Another freelance gig, another chance to bury herself in work. She swiped it open without thinking, her thumb hovering over the reply button.
Maybe Cat's right.*
But then again, maybe pretending everything was fine was easier than trying to fix it.
The conference room was filled with the buzz of excitement and nervous energy as the producers gathered around the long table. A whiteboard stood at the front, scribbled with ideas and potential cast members, but a thick tension hung in the air. The latest project was on the table: a reality dating show for queer women, and some of the guys were not entirely convinced.
"Okay, so we've got this idea for a queer women's season of *Just Say I Do," Mark, the lead producer, began, adjusting his glasses as he looked over the notes. "But I'm not sure it's going to attract the same audience. I mean, a show full of women...doesn't that limit us? We need attractive contestants to draw viewers in, and I'm just not sure that translates."
"Wait, what do you mean by that?" Alex, the only queer woman in the room, interjected, crossing her arms. She'd been sitting quietly, taking in the conversation, but now her patience was wearing thin. "There are plenty of beautiful queer women out there. It's not like we're scraping the bottom of the barrel here."
The guys exchanged glances, the laughter barely contained. Jake, the youngest producer, smirked and leaned back in his chair. "Sure, but if they could get any guy they wanted, why would they be dating women? I mean, we're talking about some of the hottest guys in Hollywood. Isn't that the real question?"
Alex felt heat rise to her cheeks. "You think women only date women because they can't get a man? Seriously? That's such an outdated way of thinking!"
The laughter in the room escalated, and Mark quickly attempted to diffuse the situation. "Hey, come on, we didn't mean it like that. We're just brainstorming here, right? We're all cool guys, right?"
"Yeah, yeah, sorry if we crossed a line, Alex," Jake chimed in, still chuckling but trying to sound apologetic. "We just want to make sure we attract a solid audience."
"I can't believe you guys," Alex shot back, standing up from her chair. "You're making this about attractiveness instead of representation. I thought this was going to be different." She threw her hands up in frustration. "I'm done with this." With that, she stormed out of the room, her heels clicking angrily against the floor.
As the door slammed behind her, a moment of silence filled the room. Mark rubbed the back of his neck, a sheepish expression on his face. "Maybe we should've treaded a little more carefully."
"Yeah," Jake sighed, glancing at the door. "I didn't think she'd take it that way. I was just joking around."
"Well, we need to be careful with this show," Mark replied, his tone more serious now. "It's important to get this right. We can't afford to alienate our audience before we even start casting. We need real representation, not just eye candy."
"Agreed," another producer, Sam, chimed in. "Let's refocus. What do we need to do to make this work? It's not just about looks; it's about authenticity. We need to highlight the stories of these women, their experiences, and why they choose to love who they love."
"Right," Mark nodded, looking back at the whiteboard. "Let's brainstorm ways to showcase the depth and diversity of queer women. We need to show the audience that love comes in many forms, not just what they expect."
The group murmured in agreement, and the mood shifted back to productivity. They began jotting down ideas, the earlier tension fading as they moved forward, determined to make the show a celebration of love and identity, despite the rocky start.
The dim glow of the overhead light cast a weak ambiance across Tori's small studio apartment as she collapsed onto the worn couch, fingers idly strumming her guitar. The sound that echoed through the room was as hollow as the years of frustration that hung heavy in the air. For years, she and Andre had poured everything they had into their music, only to be met with endless gigs in dive bars and no real success to show for it.
"Years, Dre," Tori muttered, her voice thick with the weight of it all. "Years of pouring our hearts into this, and still no big break."
Andre was sprawled out on the threadbare carpet, staring up at the ceiling like the cracks might offer some sort of revelation. "We can't throw in the towel, Tor. Our time's gonna come."
Tori sighed, her fingers pausing on the strings. "I just want people to *hear* us, you know? I want our music to matter."
Andre turned his head toward her, a mischievous glint lighting up his tired eyes. "What if I told you there's another way to get your face out there, even if it's not through the music?"
Tori raised an eyebrow, curiosity flickering to life despite her exhaustion. "What are you talking about, Dre?"
A smirk crept across Andre's lips. "Reality TV, Tor. *Just Say I Do.*"
Tori groaned, sinking further into the couch cushions. "Reality TV? I'm not about to sign up for some show where I marry a random dude, Dre. That's not even close to who I am."
Andre rolled his eyes. "Nah, they're doing it for queer women this time. You know, blind dates, and if it works out, you say 'I do.' Could be fun."
Tori sat up, her skepticism palpable. "Queer women? Since when is reality TV interested in us?"
"Since now." Andre pulled up the audition details on his phone and waved it at her. "Look, it's all about LGBTQIA relationships. You audition, they pair you up with other women, and the rest is history. Think about it—exposure, recognition. It could be huge for you."
Tori stared at the screen, her stomach knotting. It had been a long time since she'd even thought about dating women. She hadn't let herself since *her*. Since Jade. That whole chapter of her life—falling for someone she couldn't hold onto, then losing everything—had driven her right into a string of pointless, temporary relationships with men. They were distractions, filling a void that couldn't really be filled. They weren't permanent. Nothing had been since she left L.A., since she left Jade.
She forced a laugh, trying to shake off the discomfort creeping up her spine. "And how's that gonna help us, Dre? I go on TV and date some random woman, and suddenly our music blows up?"
Andre's grin softened into something more serious. "It's not just about the music, Tor. It's about *you*. People need to see *you*. You've spent years hiding from this part of yourself. Hell, you haven't dated a woman since Jade. This could be the thing that finally lets you break out. You're queer, Tor, and that's why this show is perfect for you."
Tori shook her head, still not convinced, but his words hit a nerve. She had spent a decade trying to forget what loving Jade felt like, but maybe it was time to stop running. She looked at Andre, his determined eyes boring into hers.
"You're crazy, Dre," she said softly, a small smile playing on her lips. "But maybe crazy is exactly what I need right now."
Jade's life was on the brink of unraveling, her mind a constant loop of survival tactics. Her days blurred into a frantic shuffle between dead-end PA jobs, missed auditions, and late-night hustling for cash—anything to scrape together enough to avoid the inevitable eviction notice looming over her. Two weeks. That's all the time she had left to figure out where to stash her stuff and, more importantly, how to stay off the streets.
On top of the financial chaos, Jade's creativity had been quietly simmering beneath the surface. She had a script—a project she'd nurtured for years—but with no resources, no connections, and no one willing to give her a break, it felt like a distant dream. Every attempt she made to gain traction with her web shorts had fizzled out, the digital world's indifference stinging like a slap. It wasn't enough to be talented; she needed something big, something that would force the industry to take notice.
Her mind was already racing through possible solutions as she walked the crowded streets of LA. Something drastic, she thought. A grand gesture in her personal life that might just put her in the spotlight.
That's when she spotted the casting call sign for *Just Say I Do*. Cat had mentioned it in passing—a reality show for queer women, a mix of blind dates and possible love matches. The line outside the casting office was a veritable rainbow, queer folk of every kind waiting their turn. Normally, Jade would've rolled her eyes and kept walking. Reality TV wasn't her scene—hell, dating wasn't her scene, not since Tori. She hadn't even looked at another woman in ten years, the memory of Tori still lingering like a wound she couldn't heal.
But this was different. The stakes weren't just about dating; this was about exposure. A chance to get her face in front of an audience, to break through the wall that had kept her creative projects out of the public eye. And if it meant dealing with a little reality TV nonsense? So be it.
Without overthinking it, Jade found herself in line, surrounded by people just as desperate for a shot as she was. The air buzzed with excitement, conversations buzzing around her as people swapped stories of heartbreak, hope, and ambition.
Jade shifted on her feet, her gaze drifting toward the entrance. It wasn't the path she'd expected to take, but maybe this unexpected detour was exactly what she needed. If this gig could get her noticed, if it could give her enough leverage to save her apartment and fund her script—then why not?
This could be the twist in her story that changed everything