Page 69 of Exile

She hesitated, then sighed. “It’s just…you wrote this. You made this. And it’s beautiful, Caspian.” Her voice was soft, full of something I couldn’t quite name. Admiration, maybe, or something even deeper than that.

I felt something tighten in my chest. I had heard compliments about my work before—even got a couple of awards, including Oscars, for it—but never like this. Never from someone who knew me.

I swallowed, turning my gaze back to the screen. “It feels like a lifetime ago.”

She was quiet for a moment before asking, “Would you ever do it again? One last time?”

I shook my head. “You know I’m done with all that. It’s in my past.”

“Maybe you should revisit it,” she said immediately, with no hesitation.

I finally looked at her, raising an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Because I think you still have stories to tell,” she said simply.

I sighed, shaking my head. “I don’t know, Darwynn. That part of my life is over.”

She didn’t look surprised. She just watched me, waiting. “You’ve been saying that for a while now.”

“Because it’s true.” I gestured at the screen, at the younger version of myself delivering a monologue I barely remember writing. “That was me then.”

Darwynn curled her legs under her, still looking at me like she was seeing something I wasn’t. “I know why you left,” she said softly. “And I know how much you hate the industry. But that’s not the same thing as hating filmmaking.”

I exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over my face. “It doesn’t matter. The second I step back into that world, it’s all going to come rushing back. The press. The whispers. The people who pretended I didn’t exist after what happened.” My jaw clenched. “Nobody wants to see me again, Darwynn. And honestly? I don’t want to see them either.”

She didn’t flinch, didn’t try to tell me I was wrong. She already knew how deep the scars ran. She knew about the accident, about the friend I lost, about how the industry had turned its back on me.

She had never once told me to get over it. And that was part of why I loved her.

“I get it,” she murmured. “I really do.” Her fingers brushed against mine. “But what if you didn’t have to go back to all that?”

I frowned, glancing at her. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…what if you didn’t go back to Hollywood? No studios. No investors breathing down your neck. No executive turning your story into something you don’t even recognize.” She tilted her head. “What if you did it your way?”

I let out a short, dry laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

She smiled. “I didn’t say it would be easy. But it would be yours.”

I looked away, my mind turning over her words.

I hadn’t let myself think about making another film since Harris died. Hadn’t even entertained the idea. Because the moment I did, I would have to face everything I had been running from.

But Darwynn wasn’t asking me to go back to that world. She was asking me to create something new. To reclaim something I had lost.

I swallowed. “I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She squeezed my hand, her smile soft. “You start with the story.”

I turned back to the screen, watching as my past self spoke words I had once written with so much enthusiasm.

For the first time since Harris’ death, I wondered if I still had something left to say.

And for the first, the idea of stepping behind a camera again didn’t feel impossible.

Maybe…just maybe…one last film wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. And if I did it, I’d dedicate it to Darwynn for all the love, belief, and quiet strength she had given me since the day she showed up at my door.

EPILOGUE

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