ACT I EXT. THE BUS STOP — RAIN
How it started
You had the wrong umbrella and I had no umbrella, which is how we ended up under the same one for four minutes. I have thought about those four minutes more than I have thought about most years.
"I remember thinking: do not say anything clever. Just do not let her walk off."
ACT II INT. THE SMALL KITCHEN — MORNING
The middle of it
Nobody makes a film about the middle. There is no scene where two people learn how the other takes their coffee, or who gets up when the sound happens at 3am. That is the part I would keep.
A thousand Saturdays, give or take. Markets, washing, that one shop we always say we will go back to. Ordinary, and not one of them wasted.
ACT III EXT. THE ROAD — GOLDEN HOUR
Where it goes
I am not going to promise you a perfect anything. I will promise you the boring stuff: the airport runs, the bad news first, the same side of the bed for as long as you will have me.
"Same time next Saturday?"
NEXT THE DATE IN QUESTION
Until Saturday
The countdown is real. It runs to the date in the file, and rolls forward a year each time it passes.