The Window Seat

SCENE 0: “THE POEM AT THE WINDOW” – PRESENT DAY

INT. ROOHI’S OLD BEDROOM – DUSK

The room is dim, golden light filtered through lace curtains. Dust dances in the dying sunlight. A faint murmur of street vendors outside. A diary lies open on Roohi’s lap.

Roohi (late 20s), her hair tied loosely, skin glowing from the warmth of the setting sun, sits by her childhood window. Her knees curled, her head against the grill.

She begins to speak — or perhaps think aloud. Her voice is soft but unshakable. A poem. A memory. A whisper into the wind.

---

ROOHI (V.O.)

When you set the sun for me, it rises for my beloved.

When the moon lights my way, I say to it... as you rise again in a distant land...

Take my words of love,

Tears of yearning,

Kisses I blow into the air,

Oh! let the ether around us carry it all to my beloved.

Darling Moon!

As you shine on in the lands that house my precious,

Let your light shine those honey eyes that peered into my very being,

Wanting me await his touch for a lifetime.

A pause. She touches the windowpane gently, a smile playing on her lips.

When you rain on me, and it snows for my dearest…

My shivering hands long for his warm touch,

I oft think… would he like a hug?

As the winds carry many tales,

Do they whisper to him about the songs I sing for him?

Do birds that travel long still carry messages from a lovesick madame?

Why dear universe?

Why does love make me so curious!

A glimmer of laughter escapes her, but her eyes mist.

As I sit by the waters of Ganges,

And many histories dance around through the ripples of silt,

Carrying tales of devotion...

I blush!

Thoughts of his glittering smile paint my mind,

As we admired the dancing tides many moons ago.

Then, I hadn’t known…

His breath on my skin could make my soul do tango.

Oh universe,

The matchmaker of hearts, thee!

Set our minds free — of fear, and doubt.

Match the hour for us,

Stop the clocks for us,

Let us not part by the tick-tock of those horny heads circling too fast!

The sand in our hourglass has cheated!!

Too soon, the time has fleeted.

Yet…

The eternity it takes for us to meet again!

A childish heart’s banter this may be...

A prayer, a wish or a demand I ask, Universe!

Let my beloved and I gaze at many sunsets,

And dance among the stars and tides,

And embrace under the waxing and waning of many moons,

As we wane together... into the depths of the Universe.

---

CAMERA MOVES OUTSIDE THE WINDOW – SLOW FADE

As the poem ends, the camera leaves adult Roohi at the window and gently tilts down and back in time...

---

TRANSITION TO SCENE 1: “CHILDHOOD WINDOW” – 2005

EXT. SAME COURTYARD – LATE AFTERNOON

Children’s laughter. The thwack of a cricket ball. Shadows of boys running.

The same window, only now a younger Roohi (age 7) leans against the grill, mango in hand. Her laughter echoes as she waves at the boys below — Saahil, Rohaan, and their friends, all in uniform white shirts now turned gray with dust.

Rohaan looks up. Smiles.

Roohi waves again.

The camera lingers on her soft grin.

The past and present collapse into one gentle look.

---

NARRATOR (V.O.)

She always watched from the window.

As a girl, a teenager, a woman.

Longing — not just for love —

But to be seen. To be chosen.

To belong.

(Genre: Coming-of-age Drama

Format: Feature Film / Series Pilot)

OPENING SCENE – NARRATION OVER VISUALS

Wide shot of a quaint, intellectual citys drowsy afternoon and free flowing river. Old buildings with moss-laced balconies. Faded bookstore signs, women bargaining over books and bananas. A school bell rings in the distance. Tree-lined roads sway gently. Life here moves slowly, but thought is sharp. The camera narrows into a modest home — paint peeling off, voices echoing from inside.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

This is the story of Roohi.

A girl with eyes full of rebellion, and silence stitched around her lips.

Born to a strong-willed mother married too soon…

And a father with dreams too big for his pocket.

She grew up in a home that smelled of her mother's sandalwood and fragrances of well cooked meals

In a city where time moved slow — but ideas bloomed fast.

Roohi was always watching. From her window.

---

SCENE 1: Childhood Window 

INT. ROOHI’S HOME – AFTERNOON

Roohi (7) leans on the iron-grilled window of her first-floor home, chin resting on her arms, chewing on a piece of raw mango with salt. Her eyes sparkle.

EXT. BELOW IN THE COURTYARD

Her brother Saahil (10) is playing cricket with three boys. The ball smacks loudly against a wall. Laughter echoes. One of the boys is Rohaan — curly hair, soft eyes, dimples, calm yet reckless when running.

Roohi waves with both hands. She doesn’t shout — just smiles. Rohaan notices, pauses. A soft grin. He waves back.

SAAHIL (yelling)

Rohaan! Stop daydreaming and bowl!

The boys break into laughter. Roohi disappears behind the curtain, cheeks warm.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

She was the eldest daughter in a house where girls were to be invisible and were to be married off well as achivement.

Her grandparents never truly accepted her mother.

Her father loved them, but could never provide enough.

Her mother? Tough as the turmeric stains on her palms.

This window was her theatre.

This cricket game? Her first brush with the ache of being on the outside.

---

SCENE 2: The Departure 

INT. SMALL KITCHEN – EARLY EVENING

The light is dim. The fan creaks. Steam from boiling tea clouds the edges of the frame.

Roohi (13) sits on a stool near the stove, scribbling English homework. Her mother grinds garlic in a grinder!

SAAHIL (enters, breathless)

Ma! Rohaan’s moving to Toronto! His Uncle is aiding the move and the family worked so hard to send him.

Visa, school, the whole thing. He leaves in two weeks.

Roohi doesn’t look up. Her pencil pauses, briefly.

MOTHER

Good for him. May Allah make his path easy.

(beat)

Some people are born to leave. Some aren’t.

Saahil nods, unaware of Roohi’s stillness. He pours himself chai. The room smells of cumin and rain-soaked earth.

Roohi blinks faster. Keeps writing.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

How do you mourn someone who was never yours?

You don’t.

You just bury the ache under homework, and pretend it never had a name.

---

SCENE 3: The Crash 

INT. LIVING ROOM – NIGHT

News of a global financial crisis blares from the TV. Headlines scroll. Her father is slouched, fingers gripped around a glass of whiskey. The lights flicker. It’s storming outside.

FATHER (mutters)

Gone. All of it. Years of work. Gone in a goddamn week.

MOTHER

Roohi’s fee is due. So is rent.

We need something.

FATHER (explodes)

You think I’m made of magic? You think I haven’t tried?

The room is silent, yet everything breaks without a sound. Roohi (16) stands quietly at the doorway, hand clutching her diary. Her brother throws his schoolbag and storms out.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

2008 may have broken the markets,

But 2012 shattered her family.

By year’s end, her parents had separated.

Her mother’s voice grew hoarse from holding the household together.

And Roohi?

She learned how silence becomes armor.

---

SCENE 4: College Begins (2014)

EXT. COLLEGE GATE – EARLY MORNING

Roohi (18) walks into the city’s most elite college — taking the local bus was never easy with men brushing past her inappropriately, she wipes her sweat and rugs her books firm to chest. Her eyes dart, absorbing everything.

Groups of students chatter about Plath to Marx, some argue about Gender roles. Laughter floats past her. She feels like an intruder!

INT. CLASSROOM

 – LATER

Roohi answers a question correctly. Heads turn.

STUDENT (whispering)

Is she... Muslim, she doesn't look one?

ANOTHER

How’d she get in? oh OBC, quota girl? No wonder. 

Roohi hears it all. She says nothing.

INT. CANTEEN – LUNCHTIME

She sits alone soaking in the afternoon, in the verandah of her aging college.

She pulls out a book on Terrorism. Begins to write, on politics and religion...

NARRATOR (V.O.)

She had clawed her way here — working jobs after school

But no one tells you the price of ambition.

Of being the only one who looks like you.

Of carrying your family’s scars into posh corridors. Nobody tells you, but you know it's surreal to fell you belong 

---

SCENE 5: Friendship and Dreams - a year passes 

INT. LIBRARY – LATE EVENING

Roohi flips through her poetry notebook. Fingers running over lines like prayer. A soft voice breaks the silence.

AYAN

That’s my favorite verse.

But you underlined the wrong line.

She looks up. A boy — soft eyes, rain-damp hair, and a mischievous smile.

ROOHI

Maybe I just read differently.

MONTAGE:

Sipping chai under a leaking tin shed during rain.

Scribbling poems on napkins at a street-side café.

Ayan laughing as Roohi tells him about her grandmother's obsession with Rekha.

Roohi crying as she reads out a letter she wrote to her younger self.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

With Ayan, she could breathe.

He never asked her to explain her past.

Only to share it.

And maybe, she thought,

Maybe this was what love was meant to feel like.

---

SCENE 6: The Downfall 

INT. SHARED APARTMENT – NIGHT

Walls once filled with fairy lights are now bare. Ayan types furiously at a laptop. Roohi stands with two mugs of tea.

ROOHI

You haven’t looked at me in days.

AYAN (snaps)

I have deadlines. I don’t have time for your... melancholy!

ROOHI (softly)

Why are you behaving this way? What have I done?

AYAN

Nothing! You want a medal for being so good?

She puts down the tea. Later, she cries alone in the bathroom, the exhaust fan humming above her sobs.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Sometimes, even kindness turns cruel.

Even love becomes violence — quiet, constant, crushing.

She stopped writing.

She stopped drawing.

And one day, without saying goodbye,

She packed her bag and left.

---

SCENE 7: The Return 

EXT. HOMETOWN AIRPORT – DAWN

The city hasn’t changed much. Cows still block the road. The tea stall aunty still pours with her elbow bent.

Roohi is welcome by the city lights. One bag. No plan. Her eyes tired, but not defeated.

INT. MOTHER’S HOME – MOMENTS LATER

The door opens. Her mother stands still for a moment.

They fall into each other’s arms. No words. Just breathing.

INT. HER OLD ROOM – MID-MORNING

The window is still there. A little rusted now. A cricket ball rolls by outside.

She watches children play. Laughing.

She smiles. A small, broken, beautiful smile.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

She had no job.

No partner.

Her dreams had fallen through like loose floorboards.

But she was home.

And the window —

It still waited.

Like a promise.

That even the most broken stories deserve a second act.

---

FADE TO BLACK - Interval.

THE WINDOW SEAT – PART 2

A story of longing, rebirth, and impossible love

Inspired by dreams, memory, and the magic of what-ifs

---

SCENE 1: THE STUDY ROOM – MIDNIGHT

INT. ROOHI’S ROOM – NIGHT

Books tower around her like a fortress. Her desk is a riot of margins, bookmarks, and hand-scribbled notes — Bhagavad Gita, The Upanishads, Metaphysics and Consciousness, The Divine Light Within.

Roohi (late 20s) is older now. Sleepless. Serious. Her kajal smudged, her eyes wide open — somewhere between reality and another realm.

A candle flickers. A mock test timer blinks on the screen.

She stares into the candlelight, trance-like.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

She had shut the world out to study.

A competitive exam she hadn’t cracked… yet.

But in isolation, something else awakened.

Something... ancient.

---

SCENE 2: THE DREAM

DREAM SEQUENCE – WATERY LIGHT, FLOATING

She is drowning — not in fear, but surrender. Soft winds. A pair of eyes watching her, full of recognition, love, and parting grief.

She sees herself fading... and the last thing she sees is those eyes.

Familiar. Soul-deep.

She wakes with a gasp. Shaken. Drenched in sweat.

ROOHI (whispers)

Who were you?

---

SCENE 3: THE KNOCK

INT. SAME ROOM – MORNING

Roohi rubs her eyes, finishing her final mock test. A knock on the door.

AMMA (O.S.)

Rooh beta? Someone’s here to see Saahil.

ROOHI

Just a minute, Amma!

She closes the test, breathes in, opens the door.

From behind Amma’s voice, she hears a deeper one. Warm. Recognizable. Time stills.

She steps out.

It’s Rohaan.

Taller. Softer. Same dimpled smile.

Their eyes meet.

The same eyes from her dream.

Her breath stumbles.

ROOHI (forced, awkward)

Hi… bhaiya.

He smiles warmly. She hates the word as soon as it leaves her lips.

---

SCENE 4: THE REUNION

They sit for chai in the courtyard. Time slows.

He laughs like he used to. But deeper. Wiser.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

How many lifetimes had she waited to meet him again?

They speak about books, music, poetry, migration.

The air is electric. Something forgotten has returned.

When he leaves, she retreats to her room, clutching her chest.

---

SCENE 5: THE CHAT

INT. PHONE SCREEN – TEXTING (NEXT DAY)

He waits till noon. Her text finally arrives.

ROOHI (texting):

Hey, Rohaan bhaiya…

ROHAAN:

Why do you call me bhaiya? Sounds like I’m the dudh-wala. 😅

She chuckles, visibly relieved.

Texts pour in.

Books. Cosmos. Dreams. Coincidences.

They chat every day. Time becomes elastic.

---

SCENE 6: THE MEETINGS

Montage:

They meet in old cafés with jazz playing.

Laugh over golgappas.

Read poetry aloud on park benches.

Rohaan says her voice sounds like rain on rooftops.

She blushes.

ROOHI (hesitant)

How long are you staying?

ROHAAN

Few more days.

Her smile fades. The ache begins.

---

SCENE 7: THE GOODBYE THAT WASN’T

He leaves.

But they keep texting. Voice notes. Late night calls.

One day: a voice note from him. His voice trembling.

ROHAAN (V.O.)

We lost Dadi today... it hurts more than I thought. Sorry for the rant.

Roohi listens on loop.

Wants to hug him. Say something. But doesn’t.

ROOHI (to herself)

Why would he like me? I’m just... Roohi. There are so many women there.

---

SCENE 8: THE CHANGE

Weeks later — he returns.

They meet again.

This time, something’s different.

His eyes hold questions. His gaze lingers.

They take a boat ride. She’s wrapped in a shawl. He steers.

ROHAAN

You’re… different now. Stronger. Softer.

ROOHI (smiling)

So are you.

The sky explodes in colors. Fireworks over the river.

They sit close but not touching.

---

SCENE 9: THE CONVERSATION

ROHAAN

I really like you, Rooh.

But I don’t know... I just got out of something. Life’s messy.

She nods. Inside, her heart shatters.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Don’t get attached, Rooh.

What if you get crushed again — like that dream? Or was it your past life?

---

SCENE 10: THE DRIFT

Many moons pass.

Sometimes he texts. Sometimes he doesn’t.

On a video call, he looks distant.

She smiles through it.

He never says goodbye. But slowly, space grows between them.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Maybe she was just a phase.

Or maybe he couldn’t bear the truth —

That love had returned, inconveniently.

---

SCENE 11: YEARS LATER

EXT. NEW CITY – MOUNTAINS – MORNING

Roohi now lives somewhere snowy. She holds her baby gently in her arms.

A quiet home. A warm fireplace. A diamond ring glitters like mistletoe.

She looks out the window at the same moon.

One tear escapes. She smiles — a soft, secret smile.

Like the seven-year-old girl at the window.

The baby stirs. She hums a tune — half lullaby, half prayer.

NARRATOR (V.O.)

Letting her go was his last act of love,

That is enough.

---

FADE TO BLACK

TEXT ON SCREEN:

The Window Seat – A film by Roohi

FINAL MONOLOGUE (V.O.)

ROOHI (V.O.)

Maybe I was born to love him across lifetimes.

Maybe this was the last time.

Maybe this was our farewell.

Not every love ends in marriage.

Some end in memory.

In soul recognition.

In the sigh between two stars that almost aligned.

And that's enough.

________