SCENE 7: JUST BESIDE HER

EXT. NYC STREET – DAY

SHE and her mother walk side by side. She’s pushing her bike. Coffee cups in hand.

Golden light filters through the trees. It almost feels like peace. Her mother adds sugar to her cup.

MUM
Great! So, dinner next week — you bringing Chad?

HER
(awkward pause)
Uh... no. I don’t think so.

MUM
(concerned)
Why? What’s going on?

HER
Nothing. Really — everything’s fine.
(beat)
Okay, but now —
you better tell me how was this weekend trip?

Her mum stops. Animated.

MUM
Oh honey... you should come next time.
You’d love it. So calm.
And his family? Lovely.

She looks ahead. Eyebrows raise. Tone flat.

HER
So... it’s serious, huh?

MUM
(spills coffee, laughs nervously)
Well... it’s new. But he’s great.
You’ll love him.

HER
(straight face)
Of course...

MUM
(misses it)
We’re going again this weekend, so...

She stops. Blinks. Beat.

HER
Wait — what?

MUM
(surprised)
What?

HER
I have my exhibition Saturday.

MUM
(looks away, flustered)
Oh... honey... I’m so sorry, I forgot.
(pause, softens)
I’m sure it’ll be amazing.

She doesn’t respond.

Just stands there.

Processing.

MUM
(gently defensive)
You’ll be fine.

A silence.

She turns.

Starts walking the bike again, slowly.

Her mum follows — beginning to feel the weight, but still not fully getting it.

HER
(quiet)
You do it all the time.

MUM
I really need this time with Jordan.
I’m finally happy, you know? You get it, right?

She stops. Looks at her.

HER
(bitter, but calm)
I get it, Mum.
Your whole life’s been about it. I get it. Trust me.

MUM
(confused)
Hey — what’s that about?

HER
(sighs)
Nothing.

A long beat. Her voice calm, but aching.

HER
I’m happy for you, Mum.

MUM
(smiling)
I’m sure you’ll do amazing!

HER
(soft, distant)
Yeah.
I gotta go. But um... enjoy the trip.

She starts to walk away.

MUM
(calling after her, cheerful)
Sure! I’ll tell Jordan you said hi!

She doesn’t look back.

Walks faster. Jaw tight.

She throws away the coffee — hard.

Jumps on her bike.

Pedals off.

Her face is still.

But her eyes burn.

CAMERA HOLDS — the street swallowing her.

Her mother fading behind.

She doesn’t turn around.

SCENE 8: THE THRESHOLD

INT. HIS APARTMENT – LATE AFTERNOON

The door swings open.

He enters — energized, lighter.

But the room? Dim. Still. Heavy with old air.

HIM
(softly)
This has to change.

CHOREOGRAPHY – THE SHIFT BEGINS

He throws open the curtains — light floods in.

Cracks a window — breeze stirs stale air.

He hits play — jazz hums from the speaker.

Music builds as he moves through the space —

— Tossing bottles, wrappers, papers into a trash bin

— Light sweeping

— Breathing deeper

The golden hour warms the room. Shadows stretch.

It’s not clean — but it’s lighter.

INT. HIS APARTMENT – GOLDEN HOUR

He swings to the music with a broom, spinning.

Grins — just for a moment — free.

Then collapses onto an armchair, catching his breath.

He hums along.

Alive.

His eyes find the table.

No beer.

Just… space.

Smile fades.

The urge creeps in.

DETAIL SHOTS

— His hand hovers above the empty table

— Fingers tap, fast

— Eyes flick to the fridge

— Jaw clenches

— Breath sharpens

He stands up.

Fast.

INT. KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS

He stares at the fridge.

Frozen.

Then opens it.

POV – INSIDE THE FRIDGE

Empty.

He exhales.

Hesitates.

Then—

Grabs his coat.

EXT. STREET – EVENING

He walks home, beers in a bag.

Expression flat.

Regret in every step.

A MAN BUMPS HIM.

A bottle shatters — beer spilling across the sidewalk.

WILLIAM
(turns, sharp)
What the hell, man?

MAN
(startled)
Sorry—I didn’t mean—

William stares — fire behind his eyes.

The man backs off.

Mutters another apology.

Disappears.

William stands, gripping the bag tighter.

Like it’s the only thing left.

INT. HIS APARTMENT – NIGHT

Dim. Quiet. A single lamp glows.

He sits at the keyboard — beer beside him.

He drinks.

Plays.

The music is frantic. Aching.

It climbs — crashes.

Then — the bottle tips.

SPILL.

FOAM.

SHEET MUSIC DROWNS.

WILLIAM
(shouting)
No, no—fuck!

He scrambles.

Towels.

Useless.

The papers — ruined.

Ink bleeding.

Dreams soaked.

He stops.

Breath heavy.

Then — something breaks.

CHOREOGRAPHY – THE BREAKDOWN

— He stares at the bottle

— Throws it

— Glass explodes

— Grabs the rest of the pack

— SMASH

— Kicks over the guitar stand

— Slams fists into the keyboard

Then —

stillness.

He’s surrounded by glass.

Spilled beer.

Fragments of music.

His weakness.

Hands limp.

Shoulders slumped.

DETAILS – THE REALIZATION

— His face blank, then crumbling

— Light flickering on the glass

— Dust floating in still air

A long pause.

WIDE SHOT – SILENCE

He picks up a broom.

Begins to clean.

Slow. Deliberate.

Not to erase it.

To begin.

SFX: His shaky breath… fading into…

SFX: The soft hum of the city outside. A distant phone ringing.

SCENE 9: THE COST

INT. HER APARTMENT - EVENING

She sits at the coffee table, surrounded by scattered notes and papers. Focused.

Pen raised in thought.

Her phone rings.

She exhales, picks it up.

HER
(tired)
Hey, Amy.


AMY
(V.O., fast, pushy)
Oh my god, I need a huge favor - are you home?

HER
Yeah, why?

AMY (V.O.)
I've got this pitch tomorrow, forgot to prep slides.
Just a few visuals.
You're amazing at this - nothing big.

HER
(small hesitation)
Amy, I'm-

AMY (V.O.)
Please! Just an hour. I'll owe you. Promise.

A long pause.

HER
(softly)
Okay... send it over.

INT. HER APARTMENT - LATE NIGHT

The room is dim. Quiet.

Her own work pushed aside.

She hunches over her laptop, eyes tired.

The city hums outside her window.

She clicks SEND.

Stares at the screen.

Face still - but something in her has shifted.

She gently slides her own notes aside.

CLOSE-UP
Her pen rests. She doesn't touch it.

She leans back.

Silence.

CUT TO BLACK.

SCENE 10: THE QUIET PULL

INT. RECORDING STUDIO - NIGHT

Muted colors. Low contrast.

WILLIAM sits at the mixing desk, surrounded by glass, light panels blinking around him.

Through the window: the band plays (violin, cello).

He adjusts a dial.

Rewinds a take.

Eyes focused - but his face is distant.

He rubs his eyes.

Sips cold coffee.

A moment.

He closes his eyes.

INT. HER APARTMENT - LATE AFTERNOON

Soft yellow light spills across her floorboards.

She sits cross-legged by the window. Journal in her lap.

She writes - slow, thoughtful.

Stops.

Looks out.

A distant hum of city life.

Her eyes scan the skyline like it's trying to tell

her something.

EXT. PARK - DAY

WILLIAM lies on the grass, arms behind his head.

Camera above him, slowly drifting down.

The sun flickers through the trees - golden and hazy.

His eyes closed.

A small smile forming.

Peace.

SFX: SNAP - CAMERA SHUTTER.

MATCH CUT TO:

INT. PHOTOGRAPHY STUDIO - DAY

CLICK.

CLOSE-UP - CAMERA

Bright white space.

Movement everywhere.

Stylists rush past.

Lights flash.

She stands still. Camera in hand.

She lifts it.

Lowers it.

Expression blank.

Team running around.

She turns slightly.

Eyes drift to the window.

Far away now.

Disconnected.

CLOSE-UP - HER FACE.

Still.

Searching.

Haunted, almost.

CUT TO:

INT. WILLIAM'S APARTMENT - EVENING

Silence.

William sits at the piano.

The sheet music in front of him - unfinished.

The same melody from the Scene 1: THE OPENING.

A few notes scribbled.

Blank staff lines stare back at him.

He exhales.

Stares.

Still.

Then -

He stands.

Walks out of frame.

A long beat.

SCENE 11: UNTRANSLATED

INT. GALLERY - EVENING

Same camera composition.

FROM FRAME LEFT – she enters.

The world here is soft. Measured.

Black-and-white photographs line the white walls — art that doesn’t shout.

It lingers. Whispers. Asks you to stay.

She walks slowly.

Not like she’s arriving — like she’s returning.

Her eyes move across the photographs.

There’s no hunger in her gaze. Just a quiet exhaustion.

The kind that comes after years of doing what was asked. Expected.

Of silencing something that’s now — finally — begun to speak.

She stops. Center of the space.

Conversations drift — soft, low.

Some guests move slowly, eyes engaged.

Others don’t even look.

They sip wine like it’s performance.

She remains still.

Then—

A pulse behind her. Laughter.

AMY (O.S.)
(excited)
Oh my god, girl! Look at that!

Amy and Sam enter. Bright outfits. Loud silhouettes.

They move fast — like they’re late to a show.

AMY
Congrats. Seriously.

SAM
(nods, scanning)
Yeah. Looks great.

HER
(soft smile)
Thanks. Glad you're here.

They wander quickly — eyes skimming.

They see, but don’t see.

Amy glances at Sam.

He hesitates, then offers a crooked smile.

A polite pause.

SAM
(quietly, trying to be kind)
It’s... different from your usual.

Amy tilts her head.

A flash of discomfort.

Her lips press into a smile — forced.

AMY
(shrugging)
It’s very… you, though.

They exchange a look.

A shared uncertainty.

She meets their eyes.

HER
(gently, simply)
I just wanted to slow everything down.
Let people feel.
(beat)
That’s all.

They exchange a glance.

Crooked smiles.

They don’t say what they’re thinking — they don’t have to.

How they hover at the surface, afraid something might stir if they stayed too long.

They move on — softly,

like the room asks too much of them.

She doesn’t shift.

Doesn’t chase their approval.

Only turns back toward the photograph.

Exhales.

A white pigeon — mid-flight.

Wings flared.

Just above a pair of aging hands.

Not fully open. Still trying to grasp. To pull it back.

The image is still. But the feeling — struggle.

Escape.

A memory that refused to stay caged.

WIDE SHOT – HER BACK TO CAMERA

Still. While everything moves.

The gallery blurs around her — not with motion blur — but with emotional dissociation.

Sound fades. Light thins.

CAMERA ZOOMS IN, SLOWLY.

Her eyes — clear.

Her breath — steady.

This time, she’s not waiting to be understood.

She’s remembering that she doesn’t need to be.

SCENE 12: THE FIELD

INT. HIS APARTMENT - NIGHT

The frame is almost identical.

But now:

WILLIAM lies asleep on the couch. Same center of frame.

Same quiet weight.

His body shifts, restless.

The streetlight flickers through the blinds.

SFX: Distant sound of hooves galloping through the field - low, rhythmic, primal.

His breath catches - something begins.

CUT TO:

EXT. ORCHARD - DAY

Fog cuddling the trees, the field barely visible.

The black horse breaks through the frame at full gallop.

CUT TO:

A delicate violet flower lies in a dark mud.

The haunting sound of a distant cello plays - familiar - echoing through William's mind.

CUT TO:

EXT. FOREST - EVENING

CLOSE-UP - WILLIAM'S HANDS

Tight around the reins.

WHIP.

The leather cracks.

The horse surges forward. Hooves thunder beneath.

Branches blur. Wind howls. He pulls again - faster. Desperate.

CUT TO:

A head of white rose lies in black void.

A breeze lifts the remaining petals, scattering them into the wind.

CUT TO:

Focus on the horse's galloping legs, its speed.

CUT TO:

CLOSE-UP

A daisy flower lies on wet yellow tiles.

Fluorescent lights flicker overhead.

SFX: TV empty channel noise.

CUT TO:

CLOSE-UP ON WILLIAM'S FACE

A dense fog, thick and unmoving around him.

His eyes snap open in shock, a wave of disbelief crossing his features.

His breath hitches, as the weight of what he's witnessing sinks in.

CUT TO:

TIME-LAPSE - THE LILY FLOWER BLOOMING - THE VOID

The lily flower blooms rapidly. Its pure petals unfold, bright and

untouched.

SCENE 13: THE ROOM FULL OF SILENCE

INT. WILLIAM’S LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

WILLIAM jerks awake — a sharp inhale, as if pulled from drowning.

His clothes cling to his skin, soaked in sweat.

Hair damp. Shirt stuck to his back.

Streetlight cuts across the room through half-shut blinds — slicing through shadow.

The sound of HOOVES lingers... fading... still echoing in his chest.

CLOSE-UP – WILLIAM’S FACE

Eyes wide. Chest rising.

Lips parted, but no breath comes easy.

His skin glistens.

He's not fully here.

He leans forward — elbows on knees — both hands tangled in his hair.

A beat.

He exhales.

Then — his eyes catch the beer bottle on the table.

Still cold. Still sweating.

He reaches.

WIDE SHOT – THE ROOM

One man, in a room too full of silence.

A couch worn in.

A desk cluttered with papers and cables.

He takes a sip.

Then he sits back — heavier now.

Not comforted.

Just further from the dream.

Further from remembering.

The hooves are gone.

All that’s left is the hum of the fridge, the buzz of the

streetlamp, and the weight behind his eyes.

CLOSE-UP – HIS HAND

It tightens around the bottle.

Not rage. Not grief.

Just the fear of remembering too much.

CLOSE-UP – HIS FACE

Eyes closed. Jaw clenched.

He doesn't want to know what it means.

He just wants it to stop.

FADE TO BLACK.

[published 24/6/2025]
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