The second day on set began with an odd calm.
No emergency calls. No missing props. No actors running late.
Elian should've known that meant something would go wrong.
The day's first scene was scheduled indoors—a hospital corridor sequence where Veena receives unexpected news. Nothing dramatic, but a tonal pivot. A needed change in emotional rhythm after the previous day's tension.
By 8:00 a.m., they were setting up lights in the rented hospital hallway. It smelled of old paint and new wires. The production designer had done well dressing the space—scrubbed signage, whiteboard scrawls, flickering tube light.
"Where's the IV stand?" Miraal asked over comms.
"Coming from the props van," Kriti replied.
It was a small detail, but Elian's eyes narrowed.
"Did we confirm it has the right label?" he asked.
Pause. Then Miraal glanced at him.
"You remember the label?"
"Elixir-X. Patient code 2813."
She smirked. "Okay, robot."
He didn't smile back. "Continuity matters."
---
Arya arrived ten minutes early.
"Script change?" she asked.
Elian handed her a small insert. A rewritten monologue—barely twenty words altered.
She scanned it, brow slightly raised. "You changed 'He wouldn't let me speak' to 'He didn't want to hear it.' Why?"
"Less victim, more agency," Elian said. "Makes the silence feel chosen, not forced."
Arya considered. Then nodded. "Fair."
He walked away. That was enough.
---
The scene ran three takes.
Arya paced the hallway slowly, script clipped to a clipboard. Her eyes remained dry, but her voice cracked at just the right moment. Elian didn't coach her. He didn't need to.
On the third take, she passed Rafiq in the corridor, didn't stop, didn't speak—just tightened her grip on the board and kept walking.
That was the one.
They marked it. Moved on.
---
[POV: Miraal]
Miraal checked her notes.
They were still on time. No major hiccups. But what struck her wasn't the schedule—it was the rhythm.
Elian didn't direct like someone with a master plan he wanted to show off. He adjusted the tempo of the set like a conductor—not commanding attention, just ensuring the instruments didn't clash.
Earlier, when Arya had asked about the line change, Miraal had expected the usual over-explanation. Directors loved justifying their tweaks. Elian just gave her one line. No ego. No dramatics.
And somehow, that bought more trust than all the shouting in the world.
---
Back in the break area, Rafiq approached Elian between takes.
"Scene after lunch," he said, "you want it with tension or resignation?"
"Both," Elian replied.
"That's not an answer."
"It is," Elian said. "Start tense, land in resignation. Think of it like exhaling after holding your breath for hours."
Rafiq gave a soft snort. "Alright. Director says breathe—I breathe."
---
Lunch was subdued. A few crew members joked about how quiet Elian always was.
"He doesn't yell," said the boom mic operator.
"He doesn't even sigh," Kriti added.
Shaan chimed in, "It's like he sees the whole edit in his head before we even shoot."
Miraal didn't say anything.
But she was starting to wonder if that wasn't far from the truth.
---
After lunch, they set up for the confrontation scene.
Veena and her father. A one-room, low-light sequence. Two chairs. A broken window. And silence stretched between two people who hadn't spoken in years.
It was a dialogue-heavy scene, but most of the emotion came from pauses.
Arya sat at one end of the room. The older actor playing her father, Mr. Kripalani, was a seasoned performer—controlled, but capable of great warmth when he wanted.
Elian positioned the camera at an awkward angle—just off the actor's shoulder, slightly tilted.
Miraal raised a brow.
"Why the Dutch angle?" she whispered.
"Veena's world's still tilted. It straightens by end of the scene," Elian said softly.
Small detail. Big payoff.
---
The first take was clean. The second tighter. But the third?
Magic.
Kripalani leaned back, voice hoarse but unshaken.
"You came back for closure. Not forgiveness."
Arya didn't respond. Just blinked. Once.
"I have neither," he said.
That moment lingered. The silence filled with breath and decades unsaid.
"Cut," Elian said.
Even the sound team held their breath a beat longer before moving.
---
As the crew reset the lights, Miraal walked over with a quiet grin.
"You know this scene's going to make the teaser, right?"
"I know."
"You're not even a little pleased?"
"I'll be pleased when we make day eighteen without delays."
---
[POV: Arya]
Arya sat outside in the shade, sipping warm water, letting the buzz of the scene drain out.
She wasn't sure what unnerved her more—how well Elian understood the script, or how little he talked about it.
He didn't break things down, didn't pitch metaphors or drop buzzwords. But every adjustment he made brought her closer to the character than she'd expected.
He wasn't directing her. He was… removing obstacles.
Letting the performance happen.
It was more disorienting than inspiring. But it worked.
---
By 6:30 p.m., they'd finished ahead of time.
Wrap-up was smooth. Gear packed. Team dismissed. Elian lingered behind, checking tomorrow's setup with Miraal and Shaan.
As the sun dipped low, Miraal glanced over at him.
"You do realize we've now delivered ten full scenes in under two days?"
"Don't say it aloud," Elian said without looking up. "You'll jinx it."
She laughed, then hesitated. "You ever going to tell us where you learned to direct like this?"
"I read," Elian replied, still flipping the schedule. "Watched. Failed. Then rewrote everything."
He didn't elaborate. He never did.
And Miraal didn't press. She just nodded once and made a silent note:
Let the mystery work in your favor.