The woman turned. Her face was ordinary—kind, tired eyes, a small mole near her lip. But her mouth moved out of sync. She said: “You shouldn’t have opened this.”
The scene shifted. Now the woman stood by a window. Outside, instead of a street, there was a vast, dark field. No stars. No moon. Just an endless black plain stretching to a horizon that didn’t curve. The camera wobbled, as if held by someone frightened.
Ayan laughed nervously. It was just a low-budget film. Probably experimental. He leaned closer.
