The screen darkened.
Elian sat completely still as a prompt glowed on the tablet:
[ Memory Fragment 01 – Playback Initiated ]
The system had always been sharp, logical, almost mechanical. But this? This felt personal. More than a replay — this was a return.
The moment the playback began, he felt it—not just in his mind, but in his chest.
---
[MEMORY FRAGMENT – Elian's Past Life]
A room barely larger than a storage unit.
Old prop boxes stacked against the corners. A flickering tube light buzzed above, casting half-shadows on the battered set walls. They'd built the whole thing for ₹2,500 — a miracle it was standing.
Young Elian — no more than 22 — knelt beside a camera mounted on a cracked tripod. His jeans were torn at the knees, fingers smudged with ink and instant adhesive.
Across from him, Karan sat on a wooden crate, swinging his legs.
He was smaller than Elian remembered — all bones and nervous energy, with messy hair that refused to settle. He clutched a worn paper script in both hands.
> "You know," Karan said, voice barely above a whisper, "this part doesn't make sense."
Elian looked up from adjusting the lens. "Which part?"
"Why would the boy run after the umbrella and not the puppy first? If it were me, I'd grab the puppy."
Elian chuckled. "And that's why you're not playing yourself. The character's afraid of dogs, remember?"
Karan made a face. "That's dumb. Puppies are cute."
Elian sat beside him. "Maybe. But stories aren't always about what you'd do. Sometimes they show what someone needs to do."
"So… even if it doesn't make sense to me, it makes sense to him?"
"Exactly."
Karan nodded, then frowned. "Then why doesn't he say anything in the end? No 'thank you' or 'I'm okay'? He just… smiles."
Elian paused.
"That's the part that's hardest to write," he said slowly. "The part where people say nothing but feel everything."
Karan looked at him for a long time. "You talk like someone who's seen a lot."
Elian smirked. "I watch a lot. Not quite the same."
---
They shot the scene an hour later.
Umbrella flying, fake wind machine whining like a dying goat. Karan ran after it, bare feet slapping the pavement. Then he found it—nestled beside a cardboard prop puppy—and stopped.
Camera rolled.
He knelt. Picked it up.
And looked straight into the lens. Not with fear, not with wonder—but something more delicate.
Hope.
Elian held his breath behind the camera.
"Cut."
Karan jogged back, breathless.
"Was it good?"
Elian didn't answer immediately. He crouched to meet his eye level.
"It wasn't good. It was true."
Karan beamed, cheeks flushed red.
Then came a silence.
The kind that only people who trust each other can share without feeling awkward.
Finally, Karan broke it. "If I do good in movies… will people remember me?"
Elian hesitated.
His heart tightened.
"Maybe not everyone. Not forever. But… I will."
"Promise?"
Elian extended a pinky without hesitation. "Promise."
They locked pinkies.
Karan smiled wide, like it truly meant the world.
---
The memory faded.
The color drained, the light dimmed, and the playback stopped.
All that remained on the tablet was a soft line of text:
[ "You promised to remember." ]
[ Memory Fragment Added to Archive
Emotional Anchor Strengthened — Scripts can now retain persistent memory traits between drafts. ]
---
Elian sat in stillness.
His throat was dry.
That scene had happened a lifetime ago — in a reality this world would never know. And yet… it had reached him.
This wasn't a glitch in the system. It was intentional.
Emotions could be remembered by the script. Promises could become scenes.
The past wasn't just visiting.
It was asking to be written in.
---
That night, on set, Elian introduced a new script page.
Scene 9.5 – The Lost Boy.
Minimal setting. A child sitting alone on a theatre step. No dialogue. Just one long shot. Silent wind.
He didn't tell anyone the purpose.
Just that it mattered.
Miraal glanced at the script and raised an eyebrow. "Is this tied to the plot?"
Elian only said, "It's tied to the truth."
---
When they rolled camera, Arya crossed the set and stood in character, uncertain. The child actor playing the "lost boy" sat down as directed.
But midway through the scene… he looked offscreen, as if reacting to something no one could see.
The wind shifted.
A prop curtain fluttered.
Arya, instinctively, looked too. Her gaze softened — not as a character, but as a person.
And in that moment, something genuine passed between them.
The camera caught it all.
---
Back in the editing room, Shaan called Elian over.
"Watch this frame again."
03:42.
The exact second from the puppet scene earlier.
Except now, there was no boy.
Just a light in the corner.
Almost like…
A flicker.
Not a ghost. Not a glitch.
A presence.
Elian exhaled slowly.
The system pinged again.
[ Side Quest Complete: Trace the Echo
Reward Unlocked: Emotional Authenticity Boost
Bonus Trait Acquired — "Resonant Author" ]
Your strongest memories may now manifest as moments in script form.
And then came the final alert:
[ SYSTEM WARNING: Director's Cut Interference Detected
Location: Shooting Site – Sector B (Old School Grounds)
Risk Level: Narrative Overlap
Emergency Rewrite Available. Accept? ]
Elian stared at the words.
Sector B was where they were supposed to shoot a school hallway flashback tomorrow.
But something… had changed.
The past had answered his call.
Now, it was calling him back.