Don’t Think About It So Hard ㅤ★ OP81
SUMMARY: Oscar enters the cinema, crumpled ticket in hand, knowing exactly what he's about to do. He's going to see the new film by the director who once called him home. The one who knew his silences, his tiny victories, his fears he never voiced. He's afraid but he sits down... He watches.
PAIRING: Oscar Piastri × Ex!Reader!FilmDirector
INCLUDES: Quiet angst, exes with lingering feelings, parallel narratives, emotional hurt/comfort (soft, bittersweet ending, love that stays even when people don't, haunting memories, success that cost something, open-ended ending, art imitating life, lalaland but softer, hopeful yet sad.
A/N: English is not my first language (I’ve always wanted to say that haha), so I apologize in advance if there are any grammatical errors. Hope u enjoy!!!!
The line moves quickly, Oscar’s hands tremble in his coat, he wants to blame the cold but he knows that the reality is different.
He’s not sure what to expect, or whether it’s even right to go see the movie, nor does he know if the movie is about him, about them, but the title makes him nervous.
Oscar looks at the poster again; the background is light and two figures appear in profile, barely touching, not looking at each other, nor smiling, simply sharing the same space like those who once shared a life.
In the center, unadorned, one word:
The line moves forward and Oscar prays there are still tickets available, even if it’s the worst seat, the one where the sound arrives a second late and he has to turn his head a lot to avoid looking at the crooked screen.
He knows the movie will be a success, like all the films you made. He’s embarrassed to admit that he’s been keeping an eye on all our work. But he knows this one is special, and he’s afraid to see how you portrayed all the story. From your point of view.
He still has time to change his mind and leave. He can step out of the line and pretend he never knew about “Echoes”. He still has time to pretend the past is not constantly projecting itself into his life, and now, onto a giant screen, in the whole world. There’s still time… but he doesn’t. Oscar needs to see something that will keep them connected, and there are their last moments before their story becomes public knowledge, in a way. Most people believe it’s fiction.
The line kept moving forward and suddenly it was his turn, there was a seat in the front row and he brought it, in a low voice.
He passes the thin paper from hand to hand, fidgeting nervously, his gaze fixed on the printed date and time of the movie.
I still have time to leave, he thinks, nobody will notice that I was here and… didn’t go in, but again he doesn’t leave.
The time is getting closer and closer.
Oscar starts biting his nails. He looks at the other people waiting; there’s a real mix: teenagers with their parents, young couples, people alone with overpriced drinks…
An elderly couple, arm in arm, strolled along at a leisurely pace, like people who are no longer in a hurry. She leaned in to whisper something in his left ear, and he smiled before answering, as if he already knew what she was going to say.
The memory appears without asking for permission.
Oscar and Y/n are both sitting on the floor of their apartment, their backs against the sofa, and an old movie is playing in the background that neither of them is really watching. Y/n is wearing green pajamas, and both are covered with a blanket.
Y/n talks about a specific scene and how she would like to film something like that someday: something simple, something that doesn´t need grand gestures to be important.
"I'd like to grow old that way” Oscar says distractedly, “Without drama, with peaceful Sundays…”
Y/n laughs. “When we´re grandparents, we´ll go to the movies every Sunday with our grandchildren,” she says, almost jokingly. “We´ll buy them popcorn, even if we complain about the prices, and we´ll always sit in the same row.”
“I like the idea,” Oscar blurts out. “Together.”
Together… As if it were an obvious word and the future was already written.
The image dissolves as quickly as it arrived, and the murmur of the people once again fills the entire space. Oscar blinks, uncomfortably, as if the memory had been too intimate for this place full of strangers.
Maybe I´m not ready for the world to know our story.
Oscar squeezes the ticket between his fingers.
Maybe that's why he's there. To see if somewhere in ECHOES is still some of that future they once fearlessly imagined.
Oscar heads to the movie theater.
It´s too late to turn back now, he tries to tell himself, I´m ready.
His whole body is trembling, and he knows the moment that he sees her name on the screen, tears will well up in his eyes.
The lights go out and the murmurs too.
The first thing that appears is not an image: it´s a sound. Almost domestic in nature, and then the screen turns on.
A red-haired woman appears with her back to the camera, in a white kitchen, leaning against the counter. The woman is looking out the window as if she were waiting for something that isn´t coming.
For a brief moment, Oscar relaxes, and thinks with relief that it's not about her. But that relief vanishes the moment the woman puts her hand to her neck; it's an unconscious gesture. Just like Y/n did when she overthought things.
A memory resurfaces without warning.
They are both sitting on the bed, with the light off. Only illuminated by the light coming in from the city through the window.
“I don´t know what´s wrong with me… I feel like I´m left behind,” Y/n begins. “Everyone´s moving forward with a confidence I don´t have. It´s like they all know what time they are supposed to be here, but nobody told me. And… I´m still here, doubting all the things I'm supposed to know by now.” Y/n puts a hand to her neck. “Maybe this version of me is the most comfortable: it doesn´t bother anyone… It just works, and if I keep going like this, m-maybe I'll get used to it and I won't be able to try and being anything else. And I´m really scared, Oscar.”
Oscar tries to speak but Y/n speaks faster.
“Obviously, I'm not saying I'm not okay. I think that´s the worst part: everything´s fine. But I still feel this pressure in my chest, like something´s pushing me from the inside.” Y/n says, and continues, "I'm so afraid of taking the wrong path and going in the wrong direction. Maybe in the future I´ll look back and think that if I´d been braver, I´d be a different person now. And I don´t want that.” For the first time, she looks at Oscar; her eyes are glassy. “I don´t want to be late to my own life. And maybe if I stay here, it won´t be enough for me to still be myself.”
“You mean… Do you want to leave?” Oscar´s voice breaks.
“No.” Y/n says. “But I don´t know how to explain it without it sounding like I want to leave. But I swear that´s not it. I´m just… I´m just afraid of waking up one day and not recognizing myself.”
“Breathe with me for a second.” Y/n looks at Oscar, again. “Inhale and exhale”.
Oscar began to breathe slowly and deeply, making eye contact. Checking that Y/n was following his movements. “Inhale,” Y/n followed slowly, “And exhale… that´s right, just like that.” They tried it a couple more times until the panic subsided.
“Look at me. You're here, right now, with me.” Y/n nods slowly. “You don't have to figure everything out right now. You´re not late, nobody comes into their life at the same time, okay? You don´t have to know who you are today, you don't have to decide now, either. Now, understand everything at the same time… You're not falling behind. You´re thinking and even if it doesn´t seem like it, that´s still progress.”
“What if this isn´t me?” She asks, “What if I´m getting too comfortable?”
Oscar gently cups Y/n's face in his hands, wiping away the tears with his fingers, and his voice lowered. “Then one day you´ll move, and it´ll be okay, You don´t have to run away now to prove it.”
“And… What if it´s too late?”
Oscar takes a few moments to answer.
“It´s going to hurt,” He admits, “But it doesn't mean you´re wrong today. You can change without running away.”
Y/n closes her eyes and Oscars rest his forehead against hers; they remain like that with their eyes closed.
“But I´m here.” Oscar whispers.
I´m always gonna be here, he thinks.
On screen, the woman lowers her hand from her neck.
Oscar blinks and the cinema exists again.
The scene changes; it´s a sequence shot showing the woman walking to a desk with thousands of papers, next to a computer with his screen on, it's messy. She sits down, and no more than five seconds later, a man in blue pajamas appears, disheveled and rubbing his eyes.
“Can I come in?” he says playfully, entering the room without waiting for an answer, and kisses the woman.
In the cinema, Oscar´s breathing catches in his throat.
“Are we going out today to that play you want to visit for your movie?” The boy speaks while sitting in a mini armchair.
That place is identical, Oscar thinks. Y/n worked in a room just like that and Oscar would sit in that armchair for hours reading in silence, just to keep in company.
“Yes,” The woman looks back at the computer and begins to type as she speaks, “I need to visit all the places in person before I even think about filming there.”
“What if one day you want to film something in space?” The boy asks with a smile, it´s clear he´s enjoying the conversation. “Are you going to get permission to travel to the moon?”
“There´s CGI, idiot.” The woman says with a smile.
“Can I interrupt?” He asks.
“If it´s not to tell me to clean this room, then yes.” Y/n smiles. “Good morning, love.”
Oscar leans in to kiss her. “Good morning.” He sits down in front of her, crossing his legs. “I´ve been thinking about something.”
“You? Thinking? Uhhh, dangerous.” She jokes.
“Yes… It´s not something for right now but…” Oscar hesitates.
“Okay…?” All attention is on him.
"It's for after the races,” He replies. “Or while I´m on it… I don't know yet. But I have the idea.” Oscar looks at Y/n and she doesn't have a clue of what he´s talking about. “It´s a kind of project related to Formula One but not the races or the competition, I just want to record the death times.”
“Right, someone who works at a car dealership wouldn´t understand.”
Cars…, Oscar thinks, Y/n made the love interest sell cars.
Y/n once joked that if Oscar ever retired from Formula One, he should sell cars because of his passion for them.
"I'm thinking of doing a project.” The man gets up and walks towards the chair where the woman is sitting, rests his arms on the table and they both make eye contact.
Oscar´s heart is beating strongly. And another memory.
The table is covered in papers, all with notes. Y/n is sitting on the floor, reading a piece of paper with a frown. Oscar stands there. looking at her for a moment; he always had liked seeing her like this: just woken up, disheveled and focused, as if the world could wait.
Y/n always woke up before Oscar, and this day was no exception. She let him rest on purpose; he´d only started his summer break and he has been exhausted all season. But Oscar cherished the moments when he could come home, just to exist with his girlfriend.
Y/n blinks in confusion. “Death times?”
“Yes,” Says Oscar, “When the car is turned off, or the helmet is not yet on, or when everything is over and you are there supporting me… although now that I think about it, that is not something dead…
“You want to make vlogs?”
“I don´t know. I think I want to focus on other things, like you do. You are, actually, my biggest inspiration when I was thinking about this.”
“What things do you want to focus on?”
“Small things. The ones no one stops to contemplate because they are waiting for the speed… I don´t know: the breathing, hands… Things like that. I still don´t know what to do, that´s why I need you, I want your help.
“That sounds just like you.”
Y/n laughs. “Well… yes, but I mean the project; it sounds so… honest. And could be a great contrast with all the speed of the Paddock.
Oscar takes a moment before answering.
“I had a dream the other day… and it scared me when I woke up that… that one day I get out of the car and I wouldn't know how to explain why even the quietest things matter. And I want to do it right, and you… you have a gift; everything you do is wonderful. You know how to explain with words what I can´t. You´re so talented.. I truly admire your work.
“Alright, stop. You´re making me blush. Or cry.”
Oscar looks at her for a moment. “So, what do you think?”
“I think… it´s time to get to work on that.” Oscar smiles.
Oscar never did the project.
After they broke up… he couldn´t.
The film continues, and for a moment the screen goes black, the space changes and now it´s a wide shot of a long, desert road, surrounded by dry land and sparse vegetation. The sky occupies more than half the frame, and the sound of the wine is all that can be heard.
Oscar's body is tense as soon as he recognizes the place.
The camera is filming inside a car: windshield is dirty and the sun is shining directly in. The shot isn't perfect. But Oscar knows Y/n never intended it to be.
The car stops at the side of the road and, for a few seconds, nothing happens. Then, the door opens.
The woman gets out of the car. She's wearing comfortable clothes: jeans, a basic white t-shirt, and an oversized jacket that Oscar assumes belongs to the man—at least, that's how it was in reality; Y/n always stole his black jacket. Her sneakers are red just like her hair, which is casually pulled back.
She looks around as if trying to confirm that this place really exists and it’s not just in her head. She takes a few steps, treads the ground cautiously, crouches down, and picks it up with her fingers.
Oscar, in the cinema feels something tighten in his chest.
He remembers the day they visited it together: the heat, the strange silence, the feeling of being far away from everything. He remembers Y/n turning around, observing the light, saying that she wanted to film something important there. Not a big scene, but something full of feeling.
In the film, the woman walks without a hurry. The camera follows her from behind, maintaining distance and respecting her space. She stops in front of an abandoned structure—a half-collapsed house with walls eaten away by time; and observes it as if she were standing in front of someone.
“Here?” The man gets out of the car. “It's an abandoned place, your movie isn't a horror film.”
The woman turns to look at him while laughing.
“To me, it's an old place that's about to collapse.” The man continues.
Oscar doesn't realize when his mind is consumed by a memory.
Oscar and Y/n are standing together, in that same spot. Oscar is wearing sunglasses, a white shirt, and black shorts, and Y/n is dressed the same, except she has on a black leather jacket that belonged to Oscar, and the only thing that stands out in color are her beloved red sneakers that she wore for everything.
She has a notebook clutched to her chest as she admires the place.
On screen, the woman enters the structure alone, and the camera remains outside, waiting. The wind stirs something inside, and the sound of a loose door slamming echoes in the room.
In the cinema, Oscar jumps up.
"Love, are you okay?" the man asks.
“Yes! It was just a door.”
“I don't like this place.”
The woman gets out again and leans against the car. “I'd have to make some adjustments to make it a safer place, but other than that it's perfect.”
He stares at the horizon for a long time. "I'm curious to know what your little head is planning for a place like this. If I were passing by here without you, I wouldn't have even thought to stop the car."
That didn’t happen like that, Oscar thinks.
The situation actually unfolded like this: they both entered the place. They walked through it together, and there was no sound of a door opening to startle them.
And Oscar did like the place.
“This place... brings me peace, it's strange, it's an empty place but I don't feel alone, I mean, you're here, but—”
Y/n interrupts him. “I think I understand.”
“Places hold things” Y/n had said. “Even when people are no longer there.”
"Maybe there's a ghost watching us now." Oscar jokes.
“And he's going to follow us to our apartment. At night he's going to pull your feet.”
“Let's go back outside, I want to take some pictures.”
They both head to the car and Y/n takes out her camera; while she takes pictures, Oscar also wants to remember the moment.
“Come on, hand me your camera and stand in front of the house.”
“Shouldn't I be facing the desert?”
“The house was the most important thing for both of them, wasn't it?”
“Right.” Y/n obeys and hands him the camera. “What pose should I strike?”
Y/n sticks her tongue out.
Y/n runs to Oscar's side, while he turns the camera pointing at them, and, as soon as he feels Y/n's lips touch his, he smiles.
Y/n laughs. “Okay, pass me the camera.”
This time, Oscar smiles, looking directly at the lens, and Y/n gives him a kiss on the cheek.
He still has that photo in his wallet.
His throat tightened; Oscar was going to be on set, accompanying her, watching her work. But instead, you were there without him.
His eyes fill with tears, but none fall.
The sound of the wind lingers for one more second, and the movie continues.
Oscar takes a deep breath.
He keep watching the movie, and suddenly they're in a bar. The woman sits in front of a mirror in the bathroom. Cold light fills the space. She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees, and runs her hands over her face as if trying to erase her weariness.
From outside, the music, laughter, and the sound of clinking glasses filter in.
The woman looks up and observes herself in the mirror: she's not sad, she's saturated.
Someone knocks on the door, and the camera focuses on the man on the other side.
Oscar tenses in his chair. He already knows where this scene is going.
The bar wasn't noisy, the lights were warm, and people were chatting animatedly and occasionally letting out a few laughs.
Y/n and Oscar walk through the place together, some people touch her arm as they pass and smile at her, congratulating her on the short film she just showed at a festival, others stop to quickly tell her that the final scene was incredible, some even tell her that she cries.
Y/n smiles and thanks them; it's the first time she's dared to send one of her projects to a festival and it turned out better than she expected; she feels comfortable.
A group of girls approaches, congratulates Y/n, and laughs for a while. Oscar listens and waits; when the group left, he leans close to her ear and whispers, "Are you okay?"
“Yes.” Y/n replies. “Why wouldn't be?”
"I don't know... there’s a lot of people," he says. "I thought maybe you were getting overwhelmed."
Y/n frowns slightly. It's almost imperceptible.
"I'm fine," she repeats, this time with a small smile. "I like being here."
Oscar nods and stays by her side.
Suddenly someone called Y/n's name. It was a tall man with a white beard: he was a member of the jury.
“Hello, my name is Stan.” He takes Y/n's hand in greeting and looks at Oscar, nodding his head. Oscar mirrors the gesture. “I want to tell you that your short film made me feel so many things. The script was spectacular, the acting…”
“Thank you so much, Stan, I really appreciate that.” Y/n nods, grateful.
“How did you get the camera to flip like that in the rain scene? My tripods can't achieve that effect.”
"She worked on that for weeks," Oscar interjects. "She's been sleeping terribly, but when she gets obsessed with something..."
"It's not an obsession,” she corrects. "It's enthusiasm. I truly love what I do..."
Oscar raises his hands, peacefully.
“That's it, enthusiasm.” he says quickly. “I'm just saying that it demands a lot.”
Y/n smiles uncomfortably.
“If you'll excuse me, I'm going to the bathroom. Thanks again, Stan.”
Y/n leaves and takes a long time, so Oscar goes to the bathroom and knocks on the door.
"Love? Are you okay?" He knocks twice on the door with his knuckles.
He knocks again "Y/n...?" The door opens. "Did the wine make you sick?"
Y/n leaves the bathroom, and Oscar follows her.
“You should drink some water, shall I get you some?”
“I'm fine, Oscar. Really.”
“What if you get a headache afterwards?”
Y/n sighs, not loudly or dramatically, but Oscar notices.
“I'm having a good time, I don't need you to take care of me all the time.”
Oscar blinks, genuinely surprised by the change in attitude. What did he say?
"You worry me" he replies.
"I know," she says. "But sometimes it feels like you don't trust me to take care of myself."
The music continues and someone in the distance calls Y/n; she waves, hesitating whether to go or stay.
“Shall I come with you?” Oscar asks immediately, but Y/n hesitates.
And that doubt is the first crack.
"No," she finally says, "I'll go alone. I'll be back in a moment."
Oscar stands alone, confused, a glass of whiskey in his hand. He runs his left hand through his hair and sighs heavily. He looks around and then down at the glass, beginning to swirl it slightly, unsure what to do with his hands.
He looks back at Y/n, she's laughing but it's not the same anymore.
It is at that moment, sitting there in the cinema, that Oscar realizes for the first time, reliving this memory with the film playing in the background, that he was not accompanying her, but rather containing her without her asking him to.
The film once again captures his attention. The man moves a little closer.
"I thought you had left." He says.
"I needed a minute." The woman replies.
“Everyone has been looking for you.”
She nods and gets up, but before leaving, she says, hesitant. "You don't have to stay if you're uncomfortable."
"A little, yes," she insists. "And that's okay. It's not a problem."
"My only concern is that you're not getting enough rest," he says. "You've been pushing yourself too hard lately."
When Y/n returns, Oscar is the first to speak.
"Are you sure you want to stay longer?" he asks. "You have to get up early tomorrow."
"Oscar..." she says, without anger. "It's my debut."
"I know," he replies quickly. "That's why I'm saying this, so you'll be okay tomorrow."
Y/n smiles, but it's no longer a full smile.
"I just want to help you." Oscar says.
“But I didn't ask for your help” she replies “I only asked you to be here with me, accompanying me on a special day for me.”
Oscar opens his mouth and closes it. He doesn't know what to say.
More people approach to congratulate her; she smiles and thanks them, but something has already faded. When the people leave, she turns her gaze to Oscar.
"You kind of ruined my night. " Y/n says, very quietly, as if she were ashamed to admit it.
"That wasn't my intention." He whispers.
"I know," she says. "That's the problem."
In the movie theater, Oscar lowered his gaze. He remembered that night differently, but watching the film, he realized his mistake.
It wasn't a fight. It was a series of well-intentioned gestures that, together, became suffocating.
He wasn't there for enjoyment, he was there out of fear that something would get out of control.
That night Y/n went home alone, walking through the darkness without the jacket Oscar always lent her. She felt a knot in her chest; and for the first time, she understood that love could also ruin a night if it stemmed from a fear of loss.
The film shows different moments where the protagonists loved each other, everything was normal and beautiful until the second crack appears.
It's a static shot. The woman is sitting at the dining room table, illuminated only by a warm but dim lamp. In front of her is a cup, untouched, with coffee still inside, though the steam is no longer visible.
The man is sitting on the other side. Not looking directly at her, his back is against the chair as he reads emails about his internship in three weeks; he's tired. Between them, the table seems longer than it should be.
"How was your day?" He asks, in a friendly voice.
“Good.” she replies. “They wrote to me about the project.”
The man looks up from the computer and adjusts his glasses.
"That's a good sign," he says without hesitation. "If they weren't interested, they wouldn't ask for anything."
The woman looks down at the cup and turns it over in her hands. "I suppose so… It scares me a little..."
The man leans slightly forward. "It's normal, it happens to everyone. Besides, you don't have to decide anything now."
She looks up and stares at him for a second longer than necessary. “Right.”
The man turns his gaze back to the computer, unaware of the silence that is beginning to form.
“You can rest today and see it tomorrow with a clearer head. There's no point in putting so much pressure on yourself.”
The woman nods, but something in her expression fades. She remains silent.
She sighs and gets up, picks up her cup, and walks toward the kitchen. The camera doesn't immediately follow her; it stays with the man, who sighs and runs a hand over his face, looking tired.
From the back you can hear the sound of running water.
And there, in the movie theater, the memory falls without asking permission.
The night was quiet. There was no music from the neighbors, and only the distant sound of vehicles passing by on the street could be heard.
Y/n sits at the dining room table with a cup in her hands, now cold, almost untouched. She can't remember the last time she took a sip. Oscar is across from her, leaning back in his chair, his cell phone face down on the table, as if to show he's not distracted.
Y/n looks at him for a second longer than necessary.
"They wrote to me today," she says, in a low voice.
"Well…” Y/n shrugged. "They asked me for a new version of the project with some changes."
"That's good, isn't it?" he replies immediately. "It means they're interested."
Y/n nods, but doesn't smile. “Yes... It's good…”
There is a brief silence, not awkward. Yet.
Y/n slowly turns the cup over on the table.
“It scares me a little” she adds, almost like a thought that escaped her. “Changing it so much... I feel like it might stop being mine.”
Oscar frowns, as if he were solving a practical problem.
"Well, that's what corrections are for," he says. "Everyone goes through it eventually. It doesn't mean you're doing anything wrong."
That's not what she was saying.
Oscar keeps talking, oblivious to what he's saying. "Besides, you don't have to decide everything now. You can take your time, sleep, and think about it tomorrow with a clearer head." Y/n nods again. She grips the mug with both hands.
“Yes” she says. “Of course.”
The silence returns, this time longer. The long table puts more distance between them.
Oscar leans back a little more in his chair and runs a hand over his face, tired. It's been a long week. Y/n knows it. She always knows.
She opens her mouth but hesitates. She wants to say something else, not about the project, but that she no longer knows if Oscar is noticing her the way he used to.
Before she can, Oscar speaks first.
"You know what?" he says. "If you want, we can look at it together calmly tomorrow. You should rest a little."
“Yes” she replies. “You're right.”
She gets up and takes the cup to the sink. The water runs for a few seconds. Oscar watches it silently; he feels something floating in the air, but he doesn't know what it is.
“What were you thinking about before?” He finally asks, almost intuitively.
Y/n stands still for a second.
"Nothing important," she says.
But it's also the first time she hasn't tried to correct it.
When she sits down again, a different conversation takes over. They talk about small things, what they'll do tomorrow, and the series they're watching together that they left unfinished.
Everything works. Everything fits together.
Oscar goes to bed thinking it was a quiet night.
Y/n goes to bed knowing that something of hers was left unsaid, and that, for the first time, it didn't hurt so much to keep it to herself.
There, without anyone noticing, another crack appears.
In the film, the man asks, raising his voice slightly. "What were you thinking about just now?"
The camera switches to the kitchen.
The woman is standing with her back to the sink. The water keeps running. She stands still for a second.
"Nothing important," She replies. "I’m going to sleep."
The sound of the water continues for a few seconds longer than necessary.
Oscar clenched his jaw in his seat. It wasn't that he didn't hear her, but the film didn't show anything else.
But Oscar understands. That night he also thought everything was alright, that night he also went to sleep peacefully.
And only now, seeing the scene from the outside, does he understand that she spoke, and he responded... but he wasn't there. Not completely.
And the crack had already been made.
And the film continues with another crack.
The scene begins without music. The woman is sitting on the living room floor, once again surrounded by papers and an open notebook on her lap. She is frowning as she corrects some old notes. The man enters from the back, places the keys on a shelf, and observes her for a second before speaking.
"Hey," he says, "I spoke with Martin today."
"I told him about your project," he continues calmly. "He said he could help you; he has a contact who works on the same thing."
The woman blinks and leaves the notebook on the floor.
"Yes," he replies. "I mean, nothing serious, just the general stuff. I thought it would be helpful."
She looks down at the corrected notes in the floor. “Ah.”
The man moves a little closer and sits down in the armchair. "I sent him your short film," he adds, as if he were adding a useful piece of information. "He liked it a lot."
She stops moving completely.
"My short film?" she asks, without raising her voice.
"Yes," he says. "The one from the festival. A lot of people have already seen it, right?" He shrugs.
There is a tense silence.
“You always say that you find it difficult to reach the right people.” He continues.
She nods slowly, processing what she is hearing.
“Yes... but I wanted to do it myself.”
"Does it change anything?" he asks. "The result is the same."
“No” she says. “It's not the same.”
The man opens and closes his mouth, as if he were unsure how to continue the conversation properly.
"I just wanted to help you," he says. "I thought it would give you some relief."
"Sometimes I don't need comfort," she replies. "I need to make mistakes on my own."
The man remains silent. He doesn't know what to say. He doesn't fully understand what he did wrong.
“You could have asked me.” she adds, more quietly.
"I didn't think it would bother you," he says.
She nods; at this moment, the camera angle makes her look small in her own home. The camera lingers on them for another second. There's no fight. No major recriminations. Just a new, subtle distance that wasn't there before.
In the cinema, Oscar straightens up in his seat.
He remembered the exact day.
He remembers the pride with which he spoke for her, convinced he was being a good partner. He remembers Y/n's face, that strange mixture of gratitude and something he couldn't quite name at the time.
It wasn't bad intentions. It was love anticipating a question she never asked.
And for the first time, Oscar understands that helping without asking can also be a way of taking something away from someone.
Y/n didn't find out from Oscar, she found out from someone else, and that was a mistake.
They are gathered with their group of friends on a small terrace. The sunset illuminates the sky. Y/n is leaning on the railing, listening to Oscar's sister, Clara, talk about some problems she was having at University, when a receptionist, whom she doesn't know, approaches her with a broad smile.
"Hey, listen, I just wanted to tell you that I saw your short film," she says. "I loved it."
“Yes, the one Oscar sent” the girl replies, naturally. “He showed it to all my colleagues a couple of days ago, when he booked this place.”
"Yes," she continues. "In fact, he also sent it to a producer who was with us. I wanted to mention it to you, in case they write to you."
The girl leaves, and Clara smiles. "Yes, Oscar showed it to the whole family too, it's great, I almost cried. Mom did cry, by the way, the story really hit her hard. You have a gift for explaining feelings without saying them."
The conversation continues, but Y/n isn't fully present anymore. She glances at Oscar across the terrace; he's chatting with a friend, relaxed and laughing.
Y/n apologizes to Clara and heads towards him.
“Excuse me, can we talk?”
“Uhh, yes” He looks at his friend, he left with a smile as he goes to get a drink. Y/n waits until he is far enough, and that no one around her can hear.
"Did you send my short film?" She asks bluntly.
Oscar looks at her, surprised.
“Yes” he says—. “Who told you?”
“A receptionist I don't know. Just now.”
"I was going to tell you when we got home," Oscar says, without meaning any harm. "I wanted to help you move it a little."
Y/n watches him in silence.
"Who did you send it to?" She asks.
“To a couple of people.” he replies—. “And some people in the media.”
Y/n clenches her jaw, but keeps her voice calm.
“Why didn't you ask me before?”
Oscar hesitates for a second.
"Because I thought there wouldn't be a problem," he says. "It's your job, it's good, there's nothing to hide."
"It's not about hiding," she replies. "It's about deciding."
“But it's an opportunity, Y/n.”
"I know," she says. "But I wanted to be the one to take it."
Oscar remains silent and looks around, uncomfortable.
"I was just proud," he finally says.
Y/n lowers her voice a little.
"That's not bad," she replies. "What's bad is that I found out from someone else."
The noise from the terrace continues. And laughter and music fill the place, but something shifts among them.
"Let's talk later," Y/n says. "Not now."
Y/n returns to Clara, but she no longer feels the same. Oscar watches her from afar, with a new feeling in his chest.
It was a line crossed without warning.
And from that day on, whenever Oscar wanted to help, Y/n first felt the need to protect something she had previously shared without fear.
The scene begins in silence. The film is already an hour and a half.
This scene is a static shot of the bedroom; the light is dim, and the window is open, the only sound are the cars in the distance. The framing leaves a lot of empty space, and the bed occupies only one side of the screen.
The man is sitting, leaning back in his chair, reading a book that doesn't seem to fully absorb him. He glances at his watch: 10:30 PM, and looks down at his book.
A little while longer passes, Oscar feels it's an eternity but when he looks at the watch again: 22:35 PM. He looks down again.
He hears the apartment door open.
The woman enters carefully, placing the keys quietly. She stands still for a second, as if hesitating whether or not to enter the room. Finally, she does.
"Hello," he replied, looking up. "Is everything alright?"
He sits on the edge of the bed. The man puts down what he was reading on the nightstand and moves a little closer, casually.
“You arrived later than usual.”
“Yes, I went for a walk.”
There is a pause. The man observes her, attentive.
“You didn't tell me, did something happen?”
She shakes her head, but doesn't look at him.
“No... I mean, yes, but nothing bad.” The shot holds and the silence lingers. “They called me.”
The man smiles immediately and sits up.
"Really?" he says. "And what did they say?"
"They want to move forward," she replies. "They really liked the new version."
"That's incredible," he says sincerely. "It's very big."
She nods, but doesn't smile.
The woman clenches her hands on her legs.
The man's smile evaporates.
“Two days?” He repeats incredulously, without reproach.
“Yes.” she says. “I wanted to be sure before saying anything.”
“And... did you tell anyone else?”
The woman looks up. Looks directly at him.
“To whom?” He asks, now quieter.
“Chris.” she replies. “And my mom.”
The camera moves a little closer to him.
"I thought I was going to be the first to know," he says, almost as if talking to himself.
The woman looks at him for the first time, and takes a while to respond.
“You used to be.” She finally says.
In the cinema, Oscar feels a void in his stomach.
Not because he didn't know.
But because he had never accepted when he stopped being the one.
In the film, the man looks at her.
She looks down again and shrugs, uncomfortable.
"Before… I could tell you things when they weren't clear yet," she says. "When they were just an idea... or a fear."
“Now I feel that if I tell you something really important, it becomes something you have to work out with me” she says. “And I don't want it to be a burden.”
"I don't feel that way," he replies quickly.
"I know," she says. "But I do."
“I miss when you just listened to me.” she adds. “Without trying to fix everything.”
The man lowers his gaze. He doesn't know what to say.
"I never wanted you to leave me," he says.
"I'm not leaving," she replies. "I'm just... learning to put some things away."
She finishes putting on her pajamas and lies down on her side, turning her back to him. It's not a sudden gesture, but a gentle one, showing her tiredness.
The man turns off the light after a few seconds.
The cinema screen goes almost dark.
Only two breaths can be heard. At first, they are out of sync. Then, little by little, they synchronize.
But the camera doesn't move.
And the space between them, although minimal, feels enormous.
Oscar doesn't cry. That's the first thing that surprises him.
He felt his body tense, as if someone had turned down the volume of everything else to leave only a constant pressure in his chest.
He watches the scene without blinking.
At first, he claimed that it's not exactly like that, that reality was different, but that defense doesn't last long. The film isn't interested in the details; it's interested in the emotional truth, and that disarms it.
He remembers all the times Y/n remained silent and he thought she was tired.
All the times she said "I'll tell you later" and he didn't insist, believing he was respecting her space, without noticing that that space was being filled with distance.
He realizes something that burns within him: Y/n didn't stop trusting him all at once. She learned, slowly, not to need him in the first place.
When the scene ends and the room goes dark, Oscar feels shame. Not a deep, heavy shame. He understands that he never lost it for lack of love, but for too much fear of doing it wrong.
He pressed his fingers against the armrest.
He was always there, he thinks, he never left, he never wanted to be a burden or a barrier. But the film shows him something unbearable: being there isn't always the same as arriving on time.
When he hears the two breathings synchronize on the screen, Oscar swallows hard.
They were still together, sharing a bed... loving each other.
And yet, she had already begun to walk on her own.
Oscar feels the entire movie theater disappear for a second. As if that scene had been filmed just for him, like a belated confession no one asked for but that he can't ignore.
Y/n arrived when Oscar was already half asleep.
She didn't wake him, but she moved carefully, silently took off her red sneakers, and hung her jacket in the closet. Oscar barely opened his eyes, just enough to know she was there.
"Is everything alright?" he murmured, his voice thick.
“Yes” she replied. “Sorry, it’s late.”
Oscar nodded and closed his eyes again. Before, Y/n would have gotten into bed and told him something, but it wasn't like that anymore.
The next morning, Oscar woke up first. He went to the kitchen, put water on for coffee, and checked his phone while he waited for it to boil. There was a message from Clara in their shared family group chat.
Congratulations to Y/n 🥳👏🏻
Y/n left the bedroom just as he was writing: Did something happen??
"Are you okay?" she asked, seeing him with his phone in his hand.
"I think Clara is confused," he said. "She wrote a message in the family group chat that says 'Congratulations'.."
"Ah," she said. "They called me yesterday."
“Yes” she replied. “After I left home.”
"They want to move forward," Y/n said. "We're going to sign next week."
“Y/n, that's incredible.”
She smiled back, but something about her expression was different. More restrained. As if she had already been through that moment alone.
"Why didn't you tell me last night?" Oscar asked curiously, without reproach.
Y/n leaned against the counter.
"Because you were tired," she replied. "And because I wanted to sleep with a clear head."
Oscar nodded, but the gesture wasn't fully completed.
“Did you tell anyone else?”
"My mom," she said. "And Clara, I suppose she's already told your family... Oh, and my office colleagues."
Oscar propped the phone upside down.
“I thought I was going to be the first to know.”
Y/n looked at him for a long time before speaking.
“You used to be. I used to tell you things when I still didn't know what to think.”
"Now I prefer to put them in order first," she continued. "Not because I don't trust you... but because sometimes, when I tell you things too bluntly, I feel like you worry more than I need to."
Oscar took a deep breath.
"I just want to be there," he said.
"I know," Y/n replied. "But being there is also a burden, whether you like it or not."
The coffee water began to boil. The sound filled the space that no one occupied.
They had coffee together and talked about small things, like what lunch they would make, what they would buy at the supermarket. The day continued.
But something had changed.
From that day on, Oscar began to find out about important things a little later. When they were already decided, when Julie had already processed her fear with someone else.
And when Oscar understood what was happening, he no longer knew how to become number one again without asking her to step back.
That was what hurt the most afterwards: that she learned to be without him in the important things, long before he really left.
The breakup scene begins with the woman sitting alone on the living room floor, surrounded by papers and notes taped up, an open notebook full of arrows and crossed-out words, as is customary when she works on new ideas.
She's been there for hours; it's already night outside.
The man is in the kitchen, with his back to the camera, watching videos on his phone. The woman gets up, grabs a printout of an email, and goes to the kitchen.
"Do you have a second?" she asks.
“Uh-huh.” he replied. “Give me a minute.”
She waits. She mentally counts to ten, then twenty.
"It's now or never." she says.
He sighs, puts the phone down face down and looks at her.
She shows him the printed email. He takes it.
"They asked me to make a big change," she explains. "And I don't know if I should do it. I'm afraid that—"
"Do it." he interrupts, handing the paper back without reading it first. "Trust your instincts."
“But I haven't explained it to you—“.
"You don't need to," he says. "You always know what you're doing."
She lowers the paper slowly.
"I'm not asking for permission," she says. "I'm asking you to look."
"I'm tired," he finally says.
She nods, but something inside her barely breaks.
"You're always tired when it comes to this," she says.
"That's not true," he replied. "I'm just trying not to interfere. It's your space. Your job."
"I don't want you to get involved," she says. "I want you to care."
"No," she replies. "You care that I'm okay, but you don't care about what I'm doing."
"I don't want to be that guy who has an opinion on everything," the man raises his voice. "The one who invades your space."
"And I don't want to be someone who experiences important things alone," she says. "But that's what's happening."
He runs his hand over his face.
“I didn't know you felt that way.”
She lets out an ironic laugh; she's tired.
“That's the point.” The woman says. “You never know, because you never ask.”
The man picks up the papers again without really reading them and says, "If you want, explain it to me."
"I don't want to explain it anymore," she says. "I wanted to share it, but that can't be forced."
He looks at her, confused.
"No," she replies. "It was a confirmation I needed."
She takes the paper away, carefully and without anger.
"I realized that when important things happen to me," she continues, "I think first about how to solve them... and only then about whether to tell you. And sometimes, when I do tell you, I don't need anything from you anymore."
"That doesn't sound so bad," he says, trying to smile.
She looks him straight in the eyes for the first time.
"That's very serious," she says. "Because it means I no longer need you where I used to."
"I'm not blaming you," she adds. "You did what you thought was respectful. I did what I could to avoid feeling alone. But along the way... we stopped seeing each other."
“Are you saying you want to break up?”
She takes a while to reply.
“I'm saying that I don't want to continue feeling invisible in what makes me feel most alive.”
There is a long silence and the man nods slowly.
"I didn't mean to let you down," he says.
"I know," she replies. "That's why it hurts so much."
She walks towards the room where she was working earlier, but before entering, she stops. "I wish that one day someone would sit with me on the floor and really ask me what I'm trying to say.”
The man does not respond.
The camera stays with him, alone, surrounded by a silence that no longer knows if it is respect… or absence.
Oscar feels that moment like a sharp blow to the chest; the scene is exactly as it happened in reality, Y/n held nothing back.
He presses his fingers against the armrest.
The room is completely silent, except for someone crying two rows back.
It's a moment that Oscar feels is too intimate to share with the world, and yet, it has already been projected in front of him.
He feels a slow, thick shame, not about looking bad, but about having been seen exactly as he was. Not as he remembers himself, but as he truly was.
The scene isn't exaggerated at all, and that's what Oscar finds unbearable. There are no villains, no shouting, not a single unfair remark that allows him to defend himself.
The image returns to his mind: the sheet of paper being returned to Y/n's hands unread. That small gesture that in his mind was care, respect, well-intentioned love... but which now, on the screen, is something else entirely.
It's absence. It's disinterest without ill intent. It's arriving late without knowing it.
Oscar thinks cruelly: If only I had read it... If only I had sat down to talk with her... If only she had asked me just one more thing.
But the film doesn't believe in "what if...?". Nor does reality.
On screen, the shot lingers longer than it should with the man alone. There's no music to embrace him. No quick cut to save him. Just that still body in a space that no longer needs him.
Oscar feels that the scene doesn't end when the black man appears, but now. In this movie theater. In this silence shared with strangers who don't know that this story isn't fiction for him.
He thinks that Y/n didn't hold anything back because she wasn't fighting anymore: she was saying goodbye.
And that's what hurts him the most: realizing that he thought they were having an important conversation... when for her it was already a conclusion.
His breathing becomes slightly erratic. Not enough for anyone to notice. Oscar was always good at that: having strong feelings but not bothering anyone. And for the first time, he doesn't know if he wants the movie to end or continue. He doesn't know if he wants to escape that truth or stay there, watching it until he fully understands it.
Because now he understands. He didn't lose Y/n for lack of love. He lost her because he didn't sit down with her when there was still time.
The screen remains black.
And in that black, Oscar cries.
Then comes the final scene.
The characters meet again years later in a coffee shop; it's pure chance. The conversation is short, friendly, almost superficial, and without recriminations.
Clearly, Oscar thinks, that's fiction.
The scene cuts there. They don't end up together.
The credits begin to roll, and Oscar sees Y/n's name. People applaud and the lights come up, but Oscar remains seated until the end. When the room is empty, he gets up slowly and leaves with the others. Outside, the night remains the same. People chat as they walk home, and cars move slowly by.
Oscar stops outside the movie theater and turns on his cell phone, opens his messages and scrolls down until he finds a number he hasn't written to in years: Y/n.
Hi, I saw your movie... It's been quite a while, how are you?
Oscar stared at the message for several minutes, not daring to send it.
In the end, he regretted it.
The farewell to his love story with Y/n was the movie. Oscar wasn't going to ruin that.
He puts his cell phone away and sets off.
And walks a couple of blocks aimlessly.
