SCENE 1: THE OPENING
EXT. NEW YORK CITY – EARLY MORNING
A still puddle glistens on the pavement.
Reflections ripple — silhouettes of strangers passing by, shadows stretching.
Their bodies move, blurred by ripples.
Muffled city sounds drift through: footsteps, a distant horn, low voices.
The city is waking.
A LEG STEPS INTO FRAME
Water splashes. A sharp cut of sound.
SNAP — FREEZE FRAME
Mid-step. The frame becomes a photograph.
Analog aesthetic. Grain. Texture.
SNAP — FREEZE FRAME.
Shadows crisp. Bodies blurred. Time holds its breath.
A flood of morning commuters.
Suits. Coffee cups. Blurs of color.
SNAP BACK TO MOTION
She walks.
A young woman (mid-20s), weaving through the crowd.
She moves with quiet rhythm. Intentional.
Observing.
The world blurs around her.
She lifts her camera — click.
SNAP — a man reading a newspaper on a bench.
SNAP — long shadows across a sidewalk.
SNAP — reflections in a shop window.
A flash of sun hits her lens.
She stops at a diner. Raises the camera.
The street behind her reflected in the window.
She takes one last photo.
Steps again.
In rhythm with something internal.
And then—
MUSIC BEGINS.
Faint at first. A delicate string line, barely audible.
It builds as she walks — not from the street, not from the world around her — but from somewhere else.
The camera begins to ROTATE — slowly, gliding around to face her.
She walks toward us —
Eyes forward. Focused.
Almost like she hears it. Feels it.
PAN LEFT — CONTINUOUS
She walks out of frame.
We keep drifting.
The music swells.
CAMERA floats upward —
Across the street.
Over passing taxis.
Over rooftops and windows.
Drawn by the sound.
Pulled toward its source.
And then — we settle.
A window, a few floors up.
Curtains half-drawn.
Light leaking out like breath.
INT. WILLIAM’S APARTMENT – EARLY MORNING
The music is louder now — we’re inside it. It surrounds us.
Muted golden light spills through the room.
Dust floats in the beams.
An upright piano sits untouched in the corner.
But at the center of it all — William.
At his keyboard. Mixing desk aglow. Headphones off. Eyes closed.
He’s listening.
Searching. Composing. Layering a world.
A low viola swell.
Then a fragile violin line. A distant bass hum.
He adjusts. Rewinds.
Stops.
He reaches for a sheet of paper.
Scrawls across the top with his fountain pen.
CLOSE-UP: TITLE — “?”
A question. A reaching.
He leans back.
Breathes.
Then — His fingers hover above the keys.
And he plays. Not melody. Not yet.
Just... feeling. The shape of something that almost was.
A memory just out of reach.
A future not yet claimed.
It builds. Just as it’s about to take form —
He stops.
Silence.
Outside, the city stirs.
Inside, he lingers in the space between.
MATCH CUT TO:
SCENE 2: STAGED LIGHT
INT. PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO – DAY
WIDE SHOT.
A full-blown fashion shoot — chaos choreographed.
Lights blaze.
Assistants rush.
Team circle like bees.
Energy pulses in every corner.
To her right: the model.
To her left: the crowd of creatives.
CHAD among them — gesturing, giving notes.
But we don’t hear them. The sound drops away.
Only music remains — delicate, haunting.
Something too soft for this place. Almost sacred.
SLOW MOTION — THROUGH HER EYES.
She sits center frame.
Still. Composed. The eye of the storm.
The camera in front of her — silent.
Waiting.
CLOSE-UP – HER PORTRAIT.
A soft smile touches her lips. Present. Focused.
She loves this part.
CLICK.
The shutter slices the quiet.
A shadow enters frame.
The Creative Director leans in —
Mouth moving fast.
Gestures sharp.
Words we don’t hear, but know by heart:
Make the model smile.
It has to sell.
Nothing else matters.
She glances at him.
A quiet inhale.
The smile returns — brighter this time.
Practiced. Polished.
She lifts her hand.
Demonstrates a pose — graceful, effortless.
CLICK.
BEHIND HER —
Approval.
Nods.
Pats on the back. A hand rests on her shoulder.
She turns slightly — just enough.
And the smile vanishes. Not with drama.
Just… gone.
No anger. No sadness.
Only the soft collapse of pretending.
A flicker of truth: The weariness beneath the performance.
SILENCE.
Then — We hear it.
Her breath.
She turns to the window.
As if the answer might be waiting out there.
To the question that won’t leave her alone:
She has everything she once dreamt of.
And still—
It all feels like nothing.
A beat.
Her eyes say what her mouth won’t:
What is that all about?
SCENE 3: EXPOSURE
EXT. STREET – DAY
Birds scatter in the pale sky — a sudden wave of movement.
Down below, two silhouettes walk side by side.
HER and CHAD. We don’t see their faces.
Only their shadows, stretched long by sunlight.
CUT TO:
INT. PRINT SHOP – DAY
Stacks of film prints. The quiet hum of a scanner.
Sunlight bleeds through dusty windows.
The SELLER lays out a fresh stack of prints.
SELLER
I did everything just like you asked.
(beat, smiling)
They turned out beautiful.
She leans in — eyes soft, hands careful.
That rare kind of still joy — the kind that lives in silence.
HER
Thank you.
(she smiles and glances at the seller)
It’s perfect.
CHAD leans in — a glance at her, not the prints.
He sees her glowing. Present. Proud.
And that’s exactly what he can’t let last.
His eyes flick over the work —
casual on the surface, but already aiming the jab.
CHAD
(offhand, too light)
Nice… but umm… you sure about these?
She looks up.
HER
Yeah. Why?
CHAD
(picking one up)
I mean… this one? It’s overexposed.
You lose all the detail in the whites.
HER
(firm, but polite)
Exactly. That’s my style.
CHAD
(still smirking)
Sure. Just… maybe switch it up, huh?
It’s fine for personal work —
but you won’t get far with that.
A pause.
Her smile falters — just slightly.
She holds his gaze.
Discomfort flickering behind her eyes.
She reaches forward.
Takes the print from his hand.
Slips it back into the portfolio — clean. No drama.
HER
It’s been working out so far.
CHAD
(half-chuckle, like he won something)
What, you’re mad now?
She doesn’t answer.
Just turns.
Begins to walk.
CHAD
(calls after her, smug)
God, you always have a problem.
She exhales.
Keeps walking.
Lowers her head.
HER
(soft, distant)
Yeah, maybe I’m just stressed out...
Suddenly — he’s next to her.
Closer now.
One hand lands on her shoulder.
He leans in.
His mouth too close to her ear.
She flinches.
Small, but unmistakable.
His voice is soft.
Almost sweet.
CHAD
Yeah... you're lucky to have me.
No one else would put up with you the way I do.
Her chest tightens.
Jaw clenches.
She still doesn’t look at him.
Eyes down.
Fixed on the floor.
Something shifts.
Click.
HER
(quiet)
Yeah. Right.
SCENE 4: THE WOUND
EXT. NYC STREET – DAY
WILLIAM walks through the bustling streets, headphones on.
Trees line the sidewalk.
His face is focused, distant — lost in thought.
INT. SUBWAY – DAY
He rides the subway, watching people.
The world moves fast — but he stays still.
INT. WILLIAM’S FATHER'S DINING ROOM – EVENING
WIDE SHOT:
William sits at a long dining table. Empty sit in front of him.
Silence — except for the faint ticking of a clock.
SFX:
A muffled voice — his father on a business call, offscreen.
DAD
(O.S., on phone)
Yeah, just get that ready for tomorrow.
I need to see it before the client.
CLOSE-UP – WILLIAM
Quiet. Waiting. Listening.
DAD enters, ends the call, sets his phone down, and sits.
He begins to eat — no ceremony.
DAD
(quietly, almost matter-of-fact)
So... what were you saying before?
William hesitates. Then softly:
WILLIAM
(avoiding eye contact)
I’ve been working on new piece.
DAD
(chews loudly, dismissive)
It’s never too late, you know?
William sets his fork down.
Tension building.
WILLIAM
I like what I do.
DAD
(eye-roll)
Yeah, well — dreams don’t pay bills, Will.
WILLIAM
I make it work.
You don’t need to worry about it.
DAD
I just want you to have a safe future.
WILLIAM
I have things under control.
DAD
(scoffs)
Control?
You live in a shithole.
You look like one.
Smell like one too.
(beat)
You have no idea what you’re doing.
WILLIAM
(breath sharpens)
Okay.
DAD
(piling on)
You’ll regret it.
Just listen to me.
You could actually be something —
not a walking disappointment.
A long silence.
William’s hand curls slightly into a fist — then loosens.
WILLIAM
(quiet, brittle)
You invite me here every week
just to remind me of that?
DAD
(flat, bitter)
All that money I wasted on your education.
For what?
WILLIAM
(firmly)
And I wasted time.
Which is more important.
(beat)
Mom would agree, don’t you think?
DAD
(irritated)
I just want the best for you, alright?
I have a plan — connections — everything.
And you waste yourself with this nonsense.
They lock eyes. Sharp. Familiar.
Like a wound that never closed.
WILLIAM
(quietly)
Well... Mom didn’t mind.
DAD
(cold)
Mom is not here anymore.
Silence. Thick. Cutting.
WILLIAM
(soft, stunned)
Wow.
DAD softens — just barely. Too late.
WILLIAM
(low)
I hope you’re proud of yourself.
He tosses his napkin down.
Stands.
Chair scrapes loud against the floor.
He walks out.
No yelling.
Just done.
DAD stays seated.
Staring at nothing.
Fork in hand.
He quietly keeps eating —
alone.
SMASH CUT TO:
SCENE 5: NOT HOME
INT. HER APARTMENT - LIVING ROOM – NIGHT
Laughter spills from the living room. The TV blares — too loud, too bright.
The front door opens.
She steps inside.
The apartment glows with warmth, lived-in and a little messy.
On the couch: AMY and SAM, mid-laugh, drinks in hand, lost in some chaotic reality show.
She lingers in the doorway — tired, hollowed by the day — but still, she smiles.
Not joy. Just muscle memory.
HER
Hey, guys.
AMY
Heeey!
SAM
Hey, hey, what’s up?
She drops her bag, walks toward the kitchen.
HER
Good, long day. What are you watching?
SAM
New season. Wanna join?
HER
Nah, I’m good.
AMY
Sam’s crashing here tonight, just so you know.
She pauses at the fridge, quiet. Her smile thins — she was hoping for silence.
HER
Okay.
She opens the fridge. Leaning down.
AMY
Oh — we took your dinner.
We were starving. Sorry!
She freezes.
Still crouched.
Face hidden — but her body says it all.
A small twitch in her jaw.
Eyes drop.
She closes the fridge slowly.
She looks around. The sink is full. Dishes piled.
She stares for a second — then grabs cereal from the cabinet.
SAM
(from the couch)
Hey! What are you doing Friday night?
HER
(pouring cereal)
Not sure yet.
She grabs the bowl. Silently moves toward the living room with her dinner.
SAM
I got invites. Big party.
Real scene. You should come.
She hesitates. He doesn’t wait.
SAM
Wanna meet bigger clients?
Gotta play the game. That’s how it works.
AMY
You know he’s right.
They look at her, waiting.
HER
(quietly)
Yeah… I’ll let you know.
SAM
Oh come on!
(laughs)
You’re gonna stay home scribbling notes like a grandma.
HER
(smirking)
Hey, maybe it’s time for me to retire.
AMY
You need to go out. You overthink everything.
Grab a drink. Turn your brain off.
Feel something else for once.
She forces a smile. But it doesn’t land.
She exhales — long. It’s not sadness.
It’s defeat.
A long pause.
Like she’s trying to talk herself into playing along.
But the mask is too heavy tonight.
HER
Yeah.
I’m tired. I’m gonna go to bed.
Night, guys.
SAM
Alright. Night!
AMY
Night!
(beat)
AMY
(casual, mid-sip)
Oh — I’m gonna stay another week.
Just booked another job.
She stops mid-step.
Shoulders freeze.
Jaw tightens.
Eyes close for half a second — like a reflex to a blow she already knew was coming.
She nods. Once. Small. Defeated.
HER
Right.
AMY
(mutters)
You’re the best.
She turns.
Walks to her room.
Doesn’t say anything else.
Just disappears.
INT. HER ROOM – NIGHT
She closes the door behind her.
Soft.
Not slammed — just final.
TV laughter spills through the thin walls.
She sets the cereal bowl on her desk.
Doesn’t touch it.
She stands there a second, still.
Then sits — slowly — like her body has finally caught up with the exhaustion.
She opens her journal.
Blank page.
Pen in hand.
She doesn’t sigh. Doesn’t cry. She just stares.
Then, she writes — slowly, messily, like someone too tired to edit their own pain.
CLOSE-UP – NOTEBOOK
She draws a slow, quiet circle around one sentence:
If this is living, why does it feel like disappearing?
