[Next Morning – Sid's room, sunlight creeping in]
Sid sits at his desk, eyes still tired from the dream. He's staring at a worn-out box filled with her old things — letters, a scarf, a few photos.
He gently lifts a bracelet she used to wear — made of tiny sea shells.
Sid (soft smile):
"You loved the ocean. Said the waves reminded you of freedom."
He remembers — she used to collect sea shells after every beach trip. She said each one had a story.
Suddenly, he looks to the corner of his desk.
A sea shell. A new one. One that wasn't there before.
His eyes widen slightly.
Sid (confused, softly):
"Where did this come from…?"
He picks it up — and notices a tiny letter "S" carved at the back. Her style. Her handwriting.
Sid's heart races.
Sid (to himself):
"You left this? Are you… are you trying to reach me?"
[Sid walking down the street – later that day]
Sid walks aimlessly, hands in pockets, lost in thought.
He passes by a small café — and stops.
The café's name: "Mira's Cove."
A name that hits him like lightning.
Flashback:
She once said: "If I ever open a café, I'll name it Mira's Cove. Mira means ocean... and it'll feel like a hug in the middle of chaos."
He stares at the sign.
Sid (heart pounding):
"You remembered your dream…? You actually made it real…?"
He walks toward the door — hesitant, nervous.
But something in him whispers: go.
As he opens the door, a small wind chime above the entrance rings — and it sounds just like the one she had in her old apartment.
He looks around.
The décor. The shells. The paintings.
All… her.
Sid (to himself):
"Every corner… it's like you're here."
He walks to the counter.
A girl at the counter notices him.
Barista: "Can I help you, sir?"
Sid: "Uh… who owns this place?"
Barista: "She's not around right now. She travels a lot. But she comes here some mornings… early."
Sid smiles faintly.
Sid:
"Then I'll come back. Every morning, if I have to."
[ Sid sitting at a table in the café, staring out the window — a tiny bit of hope shining in his eyes for the first time in years.]
[Next Morning – "Mira's Cove" café]
Sid enters again — earlier than yesterday. The barista from before gives him a polite nod.
Barista:
"Still hoping to meet the owner, sir?"
Sid (softly):
"Yeah… I think I already know her. I just need to be sure."
He walks to his usual corner table. But this time, something catches his eye on the windowsill:
A small notebook — worn, familiar.
Sid's heart skips.
He slowly picks it up — recognizing the fabric cover. It was hers.
The one she used to call her "Happy Journal."
Sid (whispers):
"No way…"
He gently opens the journal — and the very first page reads:
"I still write to find light — even when the world feels heavy.
If you're reading this, I hope you remember who I used to be…"
Sid's hands begin to shake.
He flips to a random page…
…and sees a drawing.
It's a sketch of Sid. Smiling. Laughing.
Underneath, written in her familiar looping handwriting:
"He had the most tired eyes but gave the warmest hugs.
If I ever see him again, I hope I'm strong enough to smile and walk away."
Sid's eyes fill with tears.
He clutches the journal to his chest.
Sid (to himself):
"You're alive. You're alive… and you're trying to stay hidden."
He stares at the door, as if hoping she'll walk in any second.
But she doesn't.
So he places the journal right back where he found it — exactly how it was.
Sid (whispers):
"I won't take this from you… not yet.
But now I know you're close.
And I'm not letting go again."
[ Later That Week – Mira's Cove Café, early morning again]
Sid walks in — a little earlier than usual. The café is quiet, just a couple of early customers sipping coffee.
He scans the room. No sign of her.
He walks to the counter.
Sid (to barista):
"Was the owner here today?"
Barista (smiling):
"Yes, actually. She left just 10 minutes ago."
Sid (heart sinking):
"10 minutes…"
[ Outside the café, a few streets away]
A young woman walks briskly through a quiet lane. It's her. Chaya.
She's wearing a soft hoodie, her hair pulled back, face slightly hidden by large sunglasses. Still, her eyes — thoughtful, distant — carry the same old warmth.
She stops by a small bookstore window, her fingers gently tracing a poetry book on display. She smiles faintly. Then turns…
And she sees someone.
From afar.
Sid. Walking. Looking around. Heading toward her direction.
She freezes. Her breath catches.
Chaya (whispers):
"Sid…"
She instinctively takes a step forward.
But her expression changes — fear, uncertainty, and pain flash across her face.
Chaya (to herself):
"No… not yet. I can't… not like this."
She turns quickly and vanishes into an alley beside the store.
[Back to Sid – a moment later]
He pauses near the same bookstore. A breeze brushes past. Something about this place… it feels familiar.
His eyes scan the alleyway. Empty.
He steps forward, almost as if he felt her presence.
But there's no one there.
He turns away, sighing.
Sid (to himself):
"You're so close… I can feel it."
He walks on.
From the alley's shadow, Chaya watches — tears silently streaming down her cheeks.
Chaya (softly, to herself):
"I still love you, Sid…
But until I face my past,
I can't return to yours."
[Scene continues – Sid lingers near the bookstore]
Sid takes a few slow steps forward. His eyes land on the poetry book in the display window — the same one Chaya was staring at just moments ago.
He stares at it, drawn in.
Sid (murmuring):
"Why does this feel like you?"
He steps inside the bookstore.
The old bell rings gently. The place is quiet, filled with the warm scent of old pages and polished wood. He walks over to the display window from inside, tracing his fingers along the spine of the book.
As he picks it up — something slips out from between the pages.
A small, hand-folded origami butterfly.
His breath catches.
He picks it up, inspecting it slowly — and then sees the tiny letters written on one of its wings:
"Kaya" —
(the name he used to secretly call her… when it was just them, and no one else knew.)
Sid's chest tightens.
Sid (whispers):
"Only she knew this..."
It was the nickname he used to call Chaya, secretly — their own little world. It was never spoken aloud around others. Never written.
But here it was. Clear. Personal.
His fingers tighten around the butterfly.
Sid (heart racing):
"It's her… Chaya.
You were right here."
His eyes dart toward the front of the store — and then toward the alley beside the bookstore.
He rushes outside, scanning the narrow lane. Empty again. Wind blowing.
But something's changed in him.
This wasn't a coincidence. It wasn't imagination anymore.
She was near.
[From a distance — hidden behind the alley wall, Chaya watches him]
Tears brim in her eyes as she sees him holding the butterfly.
Chaya (whispers to herself):
"He still remembers…"
But before Sid can turn or sense her…
She slips away again, vanishing into the morning mist.