What Brings Me Here?

THE BEGINNING

written by

Ishika Marwah

FADE IN:​

EXT. SCHOOL TRIP – DAY - 2012

A rickety school bus bounces along the road. Half the kids SING and DANCE. A quarter POP motion-sickness pills. The rest SLEEP peacefully.

In the middle of the chaos sits ISHIKA (13). She digs into her new, colorful bag and pulls out two treasures. First: a NOTEPAD. She doodles tiny stick figures with oversized eyes, scribbling random thoughts—sweet poems, silly teenage games predicting whether her true love is a boy whose name starts with A. Then: her father’s CAMERA. For the first time, she gets to use it without adult supervision. She lifts it, snapping candid shots of her friends, filming moments as they pass. Ishika’s eyes light up. Somehow, the world feels clearer—brighter—through her lens.​​​​

FADE TO:​

INT. ISHIKA'S BEDROOM – NIGHT – 2014

Ishika is tucked into bed, restless. She digs under her pillow and pulls out her personal diary. Around it lie: earphones, an iPod Nano, a hidden love letter, and a chocolate wrapper. Flipping past the half-empty page, she starts a fresh one. She writes: “What do I want to be when I grow up?”

The page becomes a chaotic explosion of possibilities. She lists almost every profession she knows, circling one… then another… then another—until all are circled. The page resembles a tangled family tree, perhaps a forest of dreams. Frustrated, she shuts the diary, plugs in her earphones, and sets the iPod aside.

FADE TO:

INT. ISHIKA'S BEDROOM – MORNING - 2024

Ishika wakes to her alarm. She reaches for her bedside table, eyes landing on her iPhone flooded with calendar notifications—all corporate meetings. She sits up - now cut to her office chair. She adjusts her shirt… and reluctantly straightens a tie.

FADE TO:

INT. ISHIKA'S OFFICE – DAY

Ishika sits at her desk, multiple tabs open: Excel sheets, PowerPoints, meetings, financial statements, a calendar packed with appointments. Behind her, the office moves in fast motion. Sounds collide: keyboards clacking, phones ringing, hushed discussions, laughter, the occasional: “Kannst du mir kurz helfen?”, “Hast du das Meeting gesehen?”, “Was machen Sie am Wochenende?”, “Bitte die Zahlen bis morgen fertigstellen.” Through the chaos, one voice cuts through—half-serious, half-laughing: “I really feel like quitting this job!” (jokingly, but somehow it echoes in her mind)

The line repeats. And repeats. And repeats.

I - REALLY - FEEL - LIKE - QUITTING - THIS - JOB.

Everything else fades.

Ishika stands and walks to the bathroom. The voice follows her until she splashes her face with cold water, eyes closed.

FADE TO:

A montage of memories:

• Laughing in film school during her one-month sabbatical.

• Narrating her script to classmates at FTII.

• Late nights fueled by coffee, immersed in editing.

• Flying her drone over Croatia and Iceland.

• Carrying heavy camera equipment in a backpack that once held only a Samsung phone.

Her eyes open. She smiles.

Back at her desk, she opens her script editing software on her official laptop. Her fingers fly over the keys.

ON SCREEN:

INT. OFFICE – DAY

ISHIKA, 25, RESIGNS.

CUT TO:

EXT. ISHIKA'S OFFICE – DAY

Ishika steps out of the building, bidding goodbye to colleagues who smile and wish her well. She waves, returning smiles and handshakes. As the last goodbye fades, she walks… and suddenly runs straight into a wall. She blinks. The world shifts.

EXT. MAJESTIC TRAIN STATION – CONTINUOUS

Before her stretches a grand train station, sunlight glinting off polished rails. A train waits on the platform, engines humming, ready to depart. Ishika stands frozen, staring. The train wobbles slightly—it looks risky, unpredictable.

A beat.

Then, instinct takes over. She runs, leaps, and clambers onto the train just as it begins to move. She steadies herself, gripping the railing. Her eyes widen with exhilaration and curiosity. 

A sign above the train reads:

“Destination: Let’s see where this goes.”

She exhales, a smile spreading across her face, and leans into the adventure.

THE BEGINNING