Scene: INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – DAY
The room doesn't echo. It swallows.
The walls are white, not clean, but sterile — scrubbed of all comfort. A pale wash of sunlight bleeds through the panoramic window, coating everything in a half-life glow. Monitors beep with the politeness of things too used to death to raise their voices. There's an oxygen machine in the corner, sighing like an old ghost. IV bags sway gently on their metal frame, like disinterested angels on a slow pendulum.
SUBHADIP lies in the bed — not asleep, not fully awake. He is still. Not the stillness of peace, but of suspension. Wrapped in gauze and silence. His skin beneath the wrappings is a map of scars, both fresh and faded — as if his body has spent a lifetime forgetting how to be whole.
He stares past the ceiling, his eyes tracing lines only he can see. Somewhere in the fog of morphine and time, thought stirs. A sliver of memory — fire, a scream, a little girl's hand yanked from his. Then: nothing. The flat white sky of amnesia.
Beyond the glass, The Citadel stretches into the clouds — a jagged skyline of chrome and mirror. Its towers are beautiful, monstrous. A city that doesn't speak but judges. A godless cathedral of ambition.
Subhadip stares at it. His lips move, barely parting. A breath. A confession.
SUBHADIP
(barely audible)
"I'm not a god."
The words don't echo. They settle into the room, like ash.
Then — the door opens.
Not abruptly. Not softly. With the weight of someone who knows how to walk without being heard.
HIMIKO enters first.
She does not make noise. She glides. Her expression is placid, almost surgical — a face trained for diplomacy and damage control. But her eyes betray her: wide and wet around the edges. She's not wearing makeup. She doesn't need to. Grief has already outlined her perfectly.
She sees him — alive — and her steps falter. Only slightly. Just enough for someone who knows her to see.
Behind her, ALEKSANDRA walks with the posture of someone who has buried more people than she's allowed herself to mourn. She looks at Subhadip the way a soldier checks a downed comrade — clinically, precisely — but her jaw is clenched too tightly. Her arms remain at her sides, fingers twitching like they want to reach out but no longer trust that they know how.
And then: a sudden rush of tiny footsteps.
YAMIYA appears like breath exhaled too quickly — all light limbs and urgency. She darts past Himiko and Aleksandra, eyes locked on the figure in the bed.
YAMIYA
(choked, trembling)
"Papa! Why are you hurt?"
The word lands like a bullet.
Subhadip doesn't move at first. His brain is slow — numbed by medication, pain, disbelief. But that word... it hits something no surgery could reach.
Yamiya clings to his arm. Her small hands tremble against the sterile fabric. Her face presses into him like she's trying to push herself into his heartbeat.
SUBHADIP
(slowly, like learning a language from scratch)
"Did you… did you just call me Papa?"
The machines beep once — sharply — as if startled too.
HIMIKO freezes. Her lips part slightly. Her breath hitches, caught in a moment she doesn't yet know how to feel.
HIMIKO
(soft, reverent)
"She remembers something… something we don't."
Her voice is full of awe — not at memory, but at connection. At the unbearable intimacy of a child knowing a truth you've forgotten.
ALEKSANDRA doesn't speak. She kneels slowly beside the bed, her fingers brushing against the sheet — not touching Subhadip, but grounding herself near him.
ALEKSANDRA
(low, steady, intimate)
"You saved us, Subhadip. Maybe not in the way you think, but you did. You broke, and you bled, and you stayed. That's what matters."
She doesn't say You're not going anywhere — because she doesn't beg. But her eyes say it. Loudly.
Subhadip turns from her to Yamiya. Her head is buried against his chest. His hand trembles — not from weakness, but fear. He rests it gently atop her head.
SUBHADIP
(quivering)
"I… I don't know what this is. But I swear — I'm not going anywhere."
YAMIYA
(without lifting her face)
"Promise me you won't leave me."
It's not a question. It's a verdict.
SUBHADIP
(voice cracking, but sure)
"I promise. I'll never leave you."
ALEKSANDRA
(stroking Yamiya's hair)
"He's your lighthouse, little star. He'll burn forever just so you can find your way home."
Subhadip looks at her — grateful and stunned. Like a man who just realized someone has been holding his hand in the dark for years without him noticing.
HIMIKO hasn't moved.
HIMIKO
(quiet, layered)
"We've only just begun, Subha. But somehow… you've already changed everything."
He stares at her. Her expression is unreadable. But her presence? It's a lifeline. She stands like a woman who has kept watch for too long and finally dared to believe her vigil wasn't in vain.
She steps forward.
HIMIKO
(to Aleksandra, without looking)
"Alek... can you take Yamiya outside for a little while?"
ALEKSANDRA reads her instantly.
She crouches beside Yamiya.
ALEKSANDRA
(whispering, gentle coaxing)
"Come on, sweetheart. Let's go find the nurse with the secret stash of orange juice. You know the cold ones that hurt your teeth?"
YAMIYA
(reluctant)
"But I wanna stay with Papa…"
SUBHADIP
(touching her cheek, tender)
"Just for a little bit, angel. I'll be right here. I'm not going anywhere."
Yamiya nods, eyes glassy. Aleksandra leads her away.
YAMIYA
(calling back softly)
"Don't go to sleep again, Papa. Okay?"
SUBHADIP
(manages a smile)
"I'm wide awake now."
DOOR CLOSES.
Silence.
Himiko moves closer. She sits on the edge of the bed, but doesn't face him.
HIMIKO
(quiet, tight-throated)
"When she called you that… do you even understand what that meant?"
SUBHADIP
(hoarse)
"I didn't think I'd ever be someone's father. Didn't think I deserved to be."
HIMIKO
"You are. Not because of DNA. Because you stayed. Because she looks at you and doesn't flinch. That kind of trust doesn't lie."
SUBHADIP
"She gave me… a reason. Something to live for."
HIMIKO
(leans in, brushing his hair back)
"You gave her everything. Even when you had nothing left."
Their foreheads touch. The intimacy is staggering — not romantic. Earned. Desperate. Full of everything that never got said.
SUBHADIP
(smirks)
"Hey, you started this. I'm just trying to emotionally manipulate my way out of despair."
HIMIKO
(eyes flash, punches him gently — not gently — in the ribs)
"You absolute bastard."
SUBHADIP
(hissing)
"Ow! That's the side where I keep my regrets."
HIMIKO
(grinning through tears)
"Good. Maybe I'll knock some more out of you."
SUBHADIP
(serious, eyes softening)
"You're always beautiful, you know. Even when you're hurting."
Her smile fades.
HIMIKO
"Don't say that if you're planning to disappear again."
SUBHADIP
"I'm not. Not this time."
She stands to go. He catches her wrist.
SUBHADIP
"Wait…"
He pulls her gently back onto the bed. She stiffens.
HIMIKO
"Subha… what are you doing?"
SUBHADIP
"Borrowing five minutes. Just us. No shadows. No masks. Just this."
She lies beside him, tentative. Her head rests near his shoulder. Her fingers find his heartbeat.
HIMIKO
(barely audible)
"You scare me. You make me hope."
SUBHADIP
"And you make me want to stay."
They draw close. A kiss waiting in the pause.
DOOR BURSTS OPEN.
NURSE
"Time for your meds, Mr. Seal—oh. Oh, I see."
HIMIKO
(jerks upright)
"It's not what it looks like!"
SUBHADIP
(covers face)
"It's exactly what it looks like, and I have no regrets."
NURSE
"Unless your medication is called 'forehead nuzzling', move."
HIMIKO
(whispers as she retreats)
"You still owe me that kiss."
SUBHADIP
"I'll earn it. When it's just us."
NURSE
(mutters as she sets up the IV)
"Jesus, this room's got more romance than my dating apps."