EXT. DRIVEWAY – EARLY EVENING – MANHATTAN, 1990s

The sky’s golden, like it always is before the city decides whether it wants to rain or smother you. A boom box plays 21 questions softly from the open garage. Elijah is on one knee in a white tank top, gold chain catching the light, sleeves rolled. He’s under the hood of your champagne-colored ‘88 Volvo—a car he swore was “a Swedish death trap” but still keeps running for you.

Elijah, also known as V.E.R.S.E in the rapping and hip hop industry, took a break from the studio and helped his wife to fix her car.

He tightens the last bolt, wipes his hands on a rag, and lights a cigarette with a snap of his fingers. The smoke curls around his face as he steps into the driveway.

⸻

Enter: MRS. JACKSON – THE NEIGHBOR FROM ACROSS THE STREET

Hair in curlers, wearing socks with sandals and a House of Pancakes tote bag. She eyes Elijah like she’s spotted a crime scene.

MRS. JACKSON (arms crossed):

Don’t you know you’re in the house of a married woman?

ELIJAH (without missing a beat):

Yes ma’am. That’d be my wife.

She raises an eyebrow. Elijah exhales smoke and lifts his chin, voice cool but polite.

MRS. JACKSON:

Haven’t seen you around. Who are you? What do you do for a living?

ELIJAH (half-smiling, voice smooth but edged):

I’m her mechanic. Therapist. Security. And, occasionally… platinum-selling artist.

Mrs. Jackson looks unconvinced. Elijah smirks.

ELIJAH (tilting his head):

But right now? I’m just tryna get her car to stop screaming like an East Harlem ex.

MRS. JACKSON (narrowing her eyes):

She keeps strange company.

ELIJAH (deadpan):

And you keep strange shoes. We all got habits.

He flicks the ash from his cigarette, gives her a short nod, and turns back toward the garage without waiting for more.

⸻

INT. KITCHEN – CONTINUOUS

You’re at the sink, watching through the window. You chuckle into your iced tea. You knew he’d handle it. He always does. Outside, Elijah pops the hood again and wipes his hands, then turns toward the window and mouths:

Brakes are good, baby. But she still don’t love uphill.