CHAPTER 2: THE SCRIPT THEY NEVER WROTE
1312 Words
The first thing Simi noticed the next morning was how bright the sun was. Too bright. The kind of brightness that made everything look raw , unfinished. Her head hurt. Not from alcohol. From remembering. She stood in front of the mirror in her room at the crew lodge, tying a new Ankara scarf over her braids. It was patterned with orange lizards and blue cowries. She’d chosen it because it made her feel grounded. But her hands fumbled as she tried to pin it. Her chest felt full, not with emotion, exactly. More like tension. There had been no dreams that night. But her body still remembered his hands. She bit her lip and shook her head. “No time for nonsense, Simi,” she muttered to herself. “You're here to work.” She finished dressing - high-waist jeans, a black top tucked in neatly, and a faded denim jacket she stole from her ex two years ago. The only thing she’d kept from that disaster. She slipped her sketchpad into her tote, slung her measuring tape over her neck like armor, and walked out into the blistering morning.
***
On Set 7:13 a.m.
The compound they were filming in today was old colonial-era architecture, high archways, dust-stained walls, and massive mango trees. A perfect location for today’s traditional scene. Props were being arranged, and the lighting crew was setting up bounce boards. Someone spilled palm wine over a wooden stool and was now drying it with the edge of a wrapper.Simi saw him before he saw her.
Kweku was bent over his camera, again. Framed by gold light. Focused. Dressed in a loose cream shirt rolled up to his elbows, grey joggers, and those same black boots that had somehow become familiar. A boom mic operator asked him a question. He nodded, said something low, then looked up.Their eyes met.
And just like that, the air between them thickened.He blinked. Gave a small nod.
No smile. No wave. Just acknowledgment.She swallowed hard and turned away. By mid-morning, everything was moving, a rhythm that only film crews understood. Props here. Actor in makeup there. Hair check. Light test. Camera rehearsal. Simi barely had time to breathe. The actresses for the maiden dance scene were being fitted with coral bead accessories and embroidered Akwaete wrappers that shimmered under sunlight. One girl complained about the waist being too tight. Simi bent down to adjust it. Her fingers worked fast. Efficient. But her brain, her brain was playing traitor.
Every time she tried to focus on a hem or button, she would remember his voice again. “You’re carrying more than fabric and pins.” She sighed sharply. A background actor beside her tilted his head. “You okay, aunty?”
Simi forced a smile. “Just heat. And people talking too much.” The actor chuckled. “Don’t worry. Today go better.” He said it in Pidgin.
Today go better. She translated it silently for herself: Today will be better.
But the tension in her shoulders said otherwise.
LUNCH BREAK 1:22 p.m.
She wasn’t hungry. But she joined the queue anyway. Rice, stew, small chops. The caterer offered her zobo in a plastic cup. She took it, sipped once, then walked off toward the far end of the estate. There was a corridor behind the kitchen building, quiet, shaded, and mostly empty. She stood there alone, sipping warm zobo and trying to breathe.Until he appeared again.
Kweku. As if summoned.
He didn’t say anything at first. Just stood a few feet away, hands in pockets. Watching her.“You always hiding?” he asked. “Only when the world gets loud.” “You want me to go?” She shook her head. He came closer. Stopped just a little too near. Their silence stretched like elastic. Then he spoke, low. “I shouldn’t have touched you.” Her eyes met his. “You already said you wouldn’t apologize.” “I still won’t.” A pause. “But I need to ask you something else.”
Her heart picked up pace. “What?” “Have you been thinking about it?” “The massage?” “No. The silence.” That made her blink. “The way you leave a room without saying goodbye,” he said. “The way you don’t meet my eyes anymore. The way your hands tremble when you’re stitching.” She laughed softly, bitterly. “You’ve been watching me?” “Always.” Another pause. Another truth. "I’ve been thinking about it too.” They stood there, zobo forgotten, words half-swallowed. Then, slowly, his hand reached for hers.
But she pulled back. Not out of fear. But out of something worse , anticipation.
“I can’t…” she whispered. “We’re working. I need to think.” "Then think.” He stepped back. “But I’ll still be here.” He left her there. Cup still in hand. Thoughts knotted. Later that evening ,Scene 12, Take 5. They were filming the ancestral wedding sequence. Drummers pounded slow, deep rhythms. The groom wore a deep red Isiagu with a lion motif. The bride’s wrapper sparkled. Beads rattled with every step. Simi adjusted the bride’s veil with steady hands. Kweku adjusted his camera with the same calm precision. Neither of them looked at each other directly. But both of them felt it. The set was a performance.
But the tension between them? That was real.
***
After Wrap 8:05 p.m.
The sky turned grey and purple. Lights dimmed. Some crew left. Others packed cables. Simi stayed back, checking a rack of costumes for stains. She felt him before she saw him.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d still be here,” he said. “I live here,” she said without turning. A beat of silence.“I want to take you somewhere.”She turned. “Where?” "It’s quiet.” “Is this where you tell me more about bodies and riddles?”
He chuckled. “No riddles. Just space.”
Something about the way he said it made her curious. 10 minutes later...
They sat side-by-side on the roof of the production house. The sky above them was full of stars. Below, the compound buzzed faintly with laughter, distant footsteps, a generator hum. She sipped palm wine from a bottle. He took swigs of water. No touching. No words.
Just air. And it felt like something holy. “I’m not used to people seeing me,” she said finally. “I don’t think people really see each other at all,” he replied. “But you… you hide less than you think.” “Not true.” “You hide your fear. Not your fire.”
She looked at him. “And you?” “I hide everything.” Their eyes met again. For longer this time. Then almost naturally she leaned her head against his shoulder. He let her. They sat that way. Stars watching. No script. No costumes. Just two people trying to hold still in a world that kept moving. Back inside her room-11:47 p.m.
Simi lay in bed, eyes wide open. She didn’t know what this was.But she knew it wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.
- Writer
