, warmer, full of promise. Film school was a dr

her. She was Isabella Hayes, daughter of a studio giant, effortlessly brilliant, b

es I hoped would impress her, scouting locations for her student fi

e, she saw me.

es shining, after I'd helped her fix a probl

the movies we'd make, the stories we'd tell. 'Desert Bloom' started then, a whisper of an idea, my idea,

I th

the kind of connections that made even Isabella's father take notice. He

ings began

eeds a stronger commercial hook

ed in producing something for us, but

hin. "Don't be silly, Ethan. You're my guy,

, laughing a little too brightly. Me, on the sidelines,

ularly galling evening where Julian h

a?" I asked, the words

e so insecure, Ethan. It's not attractive

ut of the picture. My script, my 'Desert Bloom', was suddenly 'our' project, and t