“You used my face?” she whispered.

“You said it was the last screening.” She didn’t sit. “You always say that.”

In a decaying coastal town, a burnt-out director screens his unfinished semi-autobiographical film for the one person who inspired it — his estranged daughter.

“I made this film for you,” he said.

Mira walked closer, her shadow falling across the screen.

The projector coughed again. The last reel ran out. Flapping white light filled the hall like a sigh.

The projector wheezed to life, coughing dust onto the front row. Leo stood beside it, one hand resting on the rusted metal casing like it was an old friend. The community hall smelled of salt, mildew, and regret.