INT. HOTEL CORRIDOR – 2:47 AM

You’re about to slip your keycard into the door when you hear hurried footsteps behind you—boots on marble, no hesitation. You know who it is before you even turn around.

Ellie.

She’s out of breath, hoodie thrown on in a rush, eyes furious and shining. You don’t say anything. You can’t.

“You weren’t gonna talk to me?” she asks, voice cracking, low and sharp. “You were just gonna sneak away like none of this—like we—meant anything?”

You glance around. The corridor is empty, sterile, echoing the silence between you.

“Ellie, I—I didn’t think—”

“No,” she cuts you off. “Stop thinking. For once. Just say it.”

Your chest tightens. She’s shaking now, hands clenched into fists.

“What the hell are we, huh?” “'Just friends'? Is that what this is to you?”

Her voice wavers, but it’s not weak. It’s raw.

“'Cause friends don’t look at me the way you did on set that day. Friends don’t call at midnight just to hear my voice. Friends don’t… kiss me like that and then disappear for three weeks.”

Silence.

Then, quieter—

“Tell me we aren't just friends... 'cause this doesn’t make any sense anymore.”

You’re frozen. Heart pounding. You’ve never seen her like this—vulnerable and furious, terrified and certain.

And you’ve never wanted to run toward something more.