1.

The steel plate lets out a faint clink as Krish pushes it slightly forward  untouched.

He sits cross-legged on the floor, a shadow in dim light. His father watches from across.

FATHER

(Says in irritated, cold tone)

Aaj bhi koi kaam dhoonda ya nahi?

KRISH

Dekhta hoon, Papa...

FATHER

Roz wahi jawab.

Kab tak chalega yeh? Kuch banega bhi ya zindagi aise hi bekaar guzaar dega?

Krish doesn’t react. No fire in his tone.

Just a heavy silence  like he’s heard this script a hundred times before.

He lowers his gaze  not from guilt, but from exhaustion.

Then, slowly, he gets up... folds the plate aside, and walks away.

Dim yellow bulb. A creaky ceiling fan overhead.

The mattress in the corner looks more like a surrender than a bed.

Krish lays it down gently.

No complaints.

No sighs.

Just routine.

He switches off his phone, turns away from the room from the world and lies still.

He pretends to sleep.

But the silence isn’t empty.

It’s filled with unspoken grief, the kind that stings only when nobody’s watching.

Moments later, his father walks in and lies beside him

just inches apart, yet galaxies away.

His eyes are shut tight.

But a single tear escapes  trailing down into the pillow already soaked.

He clenches his blanket like a child holding onto dreams that slipped away.

KRISH

Maa... kya dekh rahi ho?

Tumhare jaane ke baad sab khatam ho gaya.

Main kya hoon, khud nahi samajh paata. Kisiko kya samjhaunga...

INT. MEHRA MANSION

Gold-framed art. Italian marble. Chandeliers brighter than the sun.

But all that glitters  can be cruel too.

MRS. MEHRA

(In loud Voice)

Pagal ho gayi ho kya, Vaani?

Clients handle karna ab tak nahi seekha?

She flips through her files like they’re weapons.

Vaani stands there quietly  she's just seventeen but already expected to be thirty by her Parents.

MRS. MEHRA

Because of you, ek badi deal haath se gayi!

Duniya naach gaane se nahi chalti, business chalata hai.

(beat)

This is your final warning.

She slams the file shut.

The silence that follows?

Worse than the shouting.

VAANI’S BEDROOM 

Fairy lights twinkle across the pink walls.

Poetry books lined like dreams on the shelf.

But the girl on the bed? She’s not dreaming.

She’s crumbling  quietly, invisibly.

Vaani curls into her pillow.

Eyes open. Cheeks wet.

She stares at the ceiling.

VAANI

(whispers, voice cracking)

Main kya karu, Ma?

Main to abhi bas tenth class mein hoon...

She turns her gaze to the photo frame of her Maasi, sunlight falling softly on her smile.

Vaani gets up, touches the glass.

VAANI

Tum dekh rahi ho na, Maasi?

Yahan sab perfect dikhte hain, par sab jhooth hai.

Aap gayi... aur khushiyan bhi le gayi.

Her fingers tremble.

But her soul stays still.

Outside, the wind kisses the window pane

like her Maasi’s invisible hug.

And inside,

Vaani closes her eyes.

Pretending the ache isn’t real.

INT. MEHRA BUNGALOW

EARLY MORNING

Golden sunlight slips lazily through the sheer curtains, bathing the luxurious dining hall in a quiet glow.

The marble floor glistens. The long dining table looks straight out of a Vogue interior spread

silver cutlery in place, breakfast perfectly plated: buttered toast, fruit platters, and steaming coffee.

Mr. and Mrs. Mehra sit at opposite ends of the table.

Married, but miles apart. The silence is louder than any conversation.

Only the clink of cutlery… and the sharp tick-tick of the wall clock keeps the moment alive.

INT. KITCHEN –

Vaani  enters, half-awake.

Oversized T-shirt, messy bun, no words. No smiles.

She walks straight to the coffee machine  muscle memory.

Pours her cup. Takes a sip. Still no one notices. She doesn’t expect them to.

INT. LIVING ROOM – MOMENTS LATER

She flops onto the velvet sofa. Legs curled beneath her.

Phone in hand. Coffee in the other.

She scrolls through her feed like it’s a lifeline  blank expression, hidden storms.

From afar, she looks peaceful. But look closer, and you’ll see: her silence screams louder than most people’s chaos.

A sudden chirp interrupts.

ADI

(excited, innocent)

Hii Didi!!

VAANI

(sipping coffee, barely reacting)

Hmm… hi.

Adi skips toward the dining table, swinging his school bag, glowing with morning energy.

ADI

Hi Mom!

Hi Dad!

MRS. MEHRA

(her voice instantly softens)

Aaja mera bacha! Jaldi kha le, school ke liye late ho jayega.

She pours juice with a gentle smile  a smile Vaani hasn’t seen in years.

INT. DINING HALL

CONTINUOUS

Vaani gets up, coffee still in hand, when her father speaks without even glancing her way.

MR. MEHRA

Vaani. Office. Sharp 10.

VAANI

No. I have dance class today. I'm not missing it.

MR. MEHRA

Faltu shauk ke liye mere paas waqt nahi hai.

I said 10 o’clock. Be there.

His voice slices through the calm like glass shattering.

She doesn't flinch, but something inside her does.

INT. CORRIDOR  MOMENTS LATER

She walks toward her room  stiff, angry. Her mother’s voice trails behind her.

MRS. MEHRA

Presentation ready hai?

VAANI

Almost.

MRS. MEHRA

Good. Tere papa ki circus se free ho ja, then come to my office.

We need to lock the pitch with clients today.

Vaani doesn’t even turn. Just walks on.

INT. VAANI’S BEDROOM – MOMENTS LATER

She enters and shuts the door behind her  softly, but firmly.

Like she’s shutting the world out with it.

She throws herself on the bed, arms spread.

The ceiling stares back at her, calm and cruel.

Then

frustration.

She grabs a pillow and screams into it.

Not loud enough to be heard, but loud enough to let the storm escape.

VAANI

( half sob)

What the hell is this life?

Everywhere I turn "Vaani ye kar, Vaani vo kar..."

She sits up, hair wild, breath shaky. She looks at herself in the mirror  eyes fierce, but tired.

VAANI

(softly, to her reflection)

I’m not made for this.

I don’t want your deals.

I don’t want to sit in your boardrooms.

I want to act. I want to dance. I want to live.

But yeh zindagi… it feels like a cage. And I… I don’t even know where the key is.

She turns her gaze to the corner a guitar collecting dust, a photo of her Maasi on the wall.

VAANI

(Whisper to herself)

Tum hoti na Maasi… to samajh jaati.