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Introduction
Ghosted Hearts is a supernatural rom-com with a twist: what if a dating app accidentally opened a door to the afterlife? When Emma, a no-nonsense programmer, discovers her buggy app is matching users with ghosts who need closure, she reluctantly teams up with Alex, a starry-eyed street musician who believes every spirit deserves a second chance. Together, they deliver last love letters, finish unfinished songs, and help ghosts say the goodbyes they never could—while stumbling into a romance of their own. Mixing heartfelt comedy with eerie thrills, Ghosted Hearts is a modern, genre-blending love story about connection, loss, and the courage to swipe right on the unknown.
Scene 1 — The Glitch
INT. DOWNTOWN LA CO-WORKING SPACE – NIGHT
A cavernous open floor: glass walls, hanging plants, the low thrum of servers. It’s after hours. A FEW NIGHT OWLS mutter into headsets. Neon from outside bruises the windows purple and blue.
At a corner desk: EMMA LI (28), precision wrapped in a hoodie, headphones slung around her neck. Her desk is a tidy chaos—sticky notes, a cracked mug (“FUNCTION > FORM”), a fidget cube clicking under her thumb.
On her laptop: a sleek interface for a dating app, HEARTLINE. Lines of CODE run in a second window. A PHONE is docked beside it, mirroring the app.
Emma rubs her eyes, powers through.
EMMA
(soft, to herself)
Okay, version one-point-oh-final-for-real.
She hits ENTER.
ON SCREEN — An auto test sequence launches: user creation, profile generator, swipe loop. Green checkmarks. One red X.
EMMA
Not tonight, buddy.
She tweaks a line, hits ENTER again. All green.
Her PHONE VIBRATES.
EMMA (CONT’D)
Whoa. No. You cannot be live.
She glances at the phone. The HEARTLINE splash: a pulsing heart turns into a cursor.
THROUGH THE ROOM — A CLEANER vacuums in the distance. A CO-WORKER in a beanie snores into a travel pillow.
Emma undocks her phone. The app boots into…
A PROFILE.
CAMILA (24), grainy photo; a laundromat in the background. A simple bio:
“I always meant to call back.”
Emma frowns.
EMMA
Did I seed test data?
She checks her local database — empty. The profile lingers. The vacuum in the hall stops. A silence creeps in like a held breath.
The UI GLITCHES — pixels flutter, then settle. The app invites:
SWIPE TO CONNECT.
Emma swipes LEFT.
The profile SLIDES... and returns. Same image. Same bio.
EMMA (CONT’D)
That’s not how physics works.
She swipes LEFT again. The profile persists. She swipes RIGHT, half-amused.
MATCHED! Fireworks. A SOFT CHIME sounds... but it’s not from the phone. It resonates in the room — distant, metallic, as if the building itself chimed.
Her desk lamp FLICKERS. Once. Twice.
EMMA (CONT’D)
Okay, adorable. Don’t do that again.
A CHAT WINDOW opens.
ON SCREEN — Typing dots. A message appears:
CAMILA: Thank you. I’ve been waiting.
Emma freezes. Her fingers hover over the keyboard.
EMMA (CONT’D)
(typing)
This is a closed QA build. Who are you?
Dots. Then:
CAMILA: You tell me. You built the door.
Emma glances at her code. Her reflection wavers in the glass; behind it the city, rivering with cars.
EMMA (CONT’D)
(typing)
Are you on my network? Who gave you access?
CAMILA: Someone left the light on.
The CO-WORKER in the beanie STIRS, mumbles, goes back under. The plant leaves by Emma’s desk tremble though the air is still.
Emma scrolls the profile metadata. No IP. No device ID. No origin.
EMMA (CONT’D)
No. That’s not a thing.
A second profile BLINKS in the queue like a distant lighthouse: MARCO (32), a blurry balcony, night behind him. Bio:
“The song’s stuck in my head.”
Emma swallows. She turns to the room—every other monitor is dark. The cleaner is gone.
She types:
EMMA (CONT’D)
Are you Camila… the QA alias I used last quarter?
No dots. The window remains. Then the tiniest, almost imperceptible — BREATH? The audio from her phone? No, from nowhere. A small condensation ring appears on her cold coffee mug, widening as if from a sigh.
EMMA (CONT’D)
(to herself)
Sleep. You should try it.
She reaches to power the phone down.
PING.
A new message:
CAMILA: Please. One thing.
Emma’s thumb hovers.
EMMA (CONT’D)
This is so many violations of so many laws I haven’t read.
She types:
EMMA (CONT’D)
What “one thing”?
A photo uploads in the chat — low-res, analog grain. A POLAROID of a PAY PHONE on a corner. A cross-street sign barely legible: 6TH & VINE. The caption:
“I promised I’d call. Tell him I’m sorry.”
Emma leans closer. The timestamp in the EXIF: 2001. She checks the app cache—no files stored. The data came from… nowhere.
EMMA (CONT’D)
Nope. We’re done.
She yanks the charging cable. The PHONE SCREEN goes black.
The ROOM HUM DIPS. The overhead fluorescents BUZZ... then strobe. From somewhere deep in the building, a faint RING. Old, mechanical.
Emma stares at her black phone.
The ring continues. Not the crisp trill of a smartphone. The pay phone ring that belongs to movies and memories.
She stands, follows the sound.
INT. CO-WORKING HALLWAY – CONTINUOUS
Emergency lights wash the hall in red. Doors with keypads. Framed startup slogans. The ring is louder here, coaxing, insistent.
Emma turns a corner and stops.
At the end of the hall, beside a water cooler and a ficus, a PAY PHONE is bolted to the wall. Dented. Out of place. It shouldn’t exist in this building, in this decade.
It RINGS.
Emma approaches, half expecting the prop department to yell “Cut.” No one is there. The phone RINGS again.
She lifts the receiver.
EMMA
Hello?
A soft hiss. Then, a woman’s voice, far away, underwater:
CAMILA (V.O.)
Did you get my message?
Emma’s eyes flick to the blank rectangle where a coin slot would be. No power line. No logic.
EMMA
Who is this?
CAMILA (V.O.)
I thought I had time. Tell him I’m sorry I didn’t call back.
Emma’s breath catches. A defense mechanism—sarcasm—kicks in.
EMMA
Okay, wow. Great production value. Which one of my friends is punking me?
A beat. Then something simple. Human.
CAMILA (V.O.)
I’ve been trying since the light turned on. You made the light.
Emma looks back down the corridor toward her glowing workstation. The lamp flickers again, as if agreeing.
EMMA
(softening)
Who’s “him,” Camila?
Silence. Then the faintest tremor—like someone, somewhere, is smiling through tears.
CAMILA (V.O.)
You’ll know when you hear the song.
CLICK. The line dies.
Emma stands alone with a dead receiver in her hand and the hum of the building in her bones.
She slowly hangs up. The instant metal CLACK echoes like a period at the end of a sentence.
The overhead lights STEADY. The strange ring is gone. The normal world exhales.
Emma returns to—
INT. CO-WORKING SPACE – MOMENTS LATER
Her desk. The PHONE lies face down. She flips it over. The screen is on again, no unlock needed. HEARTLINE pulses, alive.
On screen — a new notification:
1 NEW MATCH.
She taps. A profile: ALEX RIVERA (30), smile crooked, a street musician mid-strum in a subway station. Bio:
“I believe in second chances.”
Emma narrows her eyes.
EMMA
Okay, Alex. Prove it.
She hesitates, then swipes RIGHT.
It’s a MATCH. The same soft chime. The lamp does not flicker. The code window logs no requests. This time there’s nothing supernatural — just a cheerful confetti animation, absurdly normal.
A new chat: ALEX is typing.
Emma waits, braced for another voice from nowhere.
ALEX: Hey. Not sure if this is weird but… does your app keep showing people who aren’t… alive-alive?
Emma pauses, looks around, then types:
EMMA
(typing)
Hypothetically speaking, if it did… what would you do?
ALEX: I’d help them call back.
Emma blinks. For the first time tonight, she smiles.
The CO-WORKER in the beanie snores loudly. Emma jumps, then laughs at herself.
She opens a new terminal window. Fingers poised to dive back into code.
In the corner of the phone screen, a TINY ICON she didn’t program: a flickering PAY PHONE.
Emma’s smile fades to focus. She starts typing, a new kind of resolve in her rhythm.
EMMA (CONT’D)
(to herself)
Okay, door. Let’s see where you actually go.
The city neon throbs beyond the glass. Somewhere outside, a BUSKER strums a melody that sounds like a promise.
FADE OUT.
Scene 2 — First Contact
INT. QUIRKY CAFÉ – DAY
Morning in Los Angeles. A café that doubles as a second home for artists and freelancers. Chalkboard menus, neon signs, mismatched couches. The hum of espresso machines blends with snippets of conversations.
At a corner booth, EMMA nurses a black coffee and her laptop. She keeps sneaking glances at her phone, the HEARTLINE app glowing with unnatural insistence.
Across from her sits ALEX RIVERA (30), a busker’s charisma in a thrift-store jacket, his guitar case leaning against the booth. He scrolls his phone, wide-eyed.
ALEX
You got the ghost thing too, right?
Please tell me I’m not losing it.
Emma raises an eyebrow.
EMMA
Define “ghost thing.”
ALEX
Matches that… shouldn’t exist. I swiped right on a guy
who’s been dead for ten years. His profile picture was
the exact Polaroid from his funeral slideshow.
Emma nearly chokes on her coffee.
EMMA
That’s oddly specific.
ALEX
Welcome to my life.
They exchange a look — suspicion, curiosity, shared nerves.
The Confession
Emma pulls out her phone. On her screen, CAMILA’S profile flickers briefly, then vanishes, replaced by new “matches”: faces too grainy, too analog, bios written like unfinished sentences.
EMMA
(quietly)
Mine asked me to tell someone she was sorry.
ALEX
(leans in, whispers)
Same here. Mine wanted me to play a song he never finished.
He taps his guitar case.
ALEX (CONT’D)
You’re a programmer, right? Maybe you built the door.
Emma freezes. The same words Camila used last night.
EMMA
(defensive)
It was a bug. A glitch. That’s all.
ALEX
(smiles)
Then why are we both here?
The Café Chorus
Around them, conversations rise:
— A STUDENT waves her phone at her friend. “My match said he died in ’87!”
— A BARISTA mutters: “Half my customers are swiping with ghosts.”
— An OLD WOMAN at the counter whispers into her screen like it’s a prayer.
The whole café is buzzing with ghost stories.
Emma watches, stunned. It’s not just her.
EMMA
(under breath)
Oh God… it’s viral.
ALEX
Viral bugs make TikTok videos. This? This is…
I don’t know what this is.
The Dare
Alex leans across the table. His eyes are alive with reckless hope.
ALEX
What if it’s not about us? What if it’s about them?
The ones who didn’t get to finish their stories.
EMMA
(snorts)
Great. We’re Tinder for the undead.
ALEX
(grinning)
More like Uber for closure.
Emma smirks despite herself.
EMMA
And what? We’re supposed to be the drivers?
ALEX
You built the car. I just… play the soundtrack.
He gestures to his guitar.
The First Test
Emma’s phone BUZZES. A new notification:
“1 NEW MATCH.”
Profile: ANTONIO (26), blurry photo on a bicycle. Bio: “I never got to finish the race.”
Emma’s jaw tightens.
EMMA
(mutters)
Oh, hell no.
ALEX
What’s it say?
EMMA
He wants to finish a bike race. In Griffith Park. Twenty years late.
Alex’s eyes sparkle.
ALEX
Then let’s do it.
Emma stares at him like he’s insane.
EMMA
You want to ride bikes for a ghost?
ALEX
(shrugs)
Got better plans tonight?
Emma hesitates. Her logical brain screams “no,” but something in her chest — curiosity, maybe even excitement — whispers “yes.”
She sighs.
EMMA
You’re unbelievable.
ALEX
(grins)
And you’re coming.
The Pact
They clink coffee cups like a contract.
EMMA
One ride. One test. If it works, fine. If not—
we delete the app and never speak of this again.
ALEX
Deal. But if it does work…
(beat)
We help them all.
Emma shakes her head, muttering under her breath.
EMMA
I really should’ve built a food-delivery app.
They both laugh, nervous but real. The first flicker of trust.
The Foreshadow
As they pack up, the café lights flicker. A DRAFT of cold air ripples through the room. Coffee cups rattle. Phones BUZZ simultaneously.
Dozens of screens light up at once. Every patron stares at their ghostly “matches.” The café fills with an eerie chorus of notification chimes.
Emma and Alex lock eyes. Their phones glow.
“Your ghost is waiting.”
The barista drops a mug. Shards scatter like punctuation.
Emma swallows hard.
EMMA
(whispers)
What the hell did I build?
FADE OUT.
Scene 3 — Love from Beyond
EXT. GRIFFITH PARK BIKE TRAIL – SUNSET
The park glows golden. Cyclists whiz past, joggers puff up hills. EMMA is hunched over her phone, checking the HEARTLINE app. ALEX pedals up on a squeaky rental bike, guitar case strapped awkwardly to his back.
ALEX
You look thrilled.
EMMA
I agreed to debug a ghost, not sweat uphill.
ALEX
Hey, if Antonio wants to finish his race, we’re gonna finish it.
Emma scrolls. Antonio’s ghostly profile flickers. His photo — frozen mid-pedal, grin wide. The bio updates live:
“Almost there.”
Emma freezes.
EMMA
Did you see that? The bio changed.
ALEX
(grins)
Guess he’s live-tracking us.
A chill passes through the warm air. Leaves stir. Emma mounts her bike reluctantly.
The Ride
They pedal up the trail. Emma pants, unathletic but determined. Alex rides ahead, cheering her like a personal trainer.
ALEX
Come on, Li. Think of it as cardio with existential stakes!
The phone BUZZES. A map appears: a glowing dot just ahead. Emma swerves, startled.
EMMA
Okay, no. This is… insane.
Suddenly, the air ripples. For a second, Antonio’s silhouette — faint, translucent — pedals alongside them. His bike gleams phantom silver.
EMMA (CONT’D)
…oh my God.
Antonio grins at her, salutes, then pushes forward. His form flickers, almost like bad Wi-Fi.
ALEX
(in awe)
We’re not alone.
They chase him up the last hill. At the summit: a panoramic view of LA at dusk. Antonio’s silhouette crosses an invisible finish line. He lifts phantom arms in victory. Then — he vanishes in a shimmer of light.
On Emma’s phone, his profile fades. A final message remains:
“Tell Mom I made it.”
Emma exhales, shaking. Alex just smiles, wiping sweat from his brow.
ALEX
One ghost down.
EMMA
(softly)
…and a thousand to go.
Montage — Helping the Ghosts
— INT. DINER – NIGHT: Emma and Alex deliver a faded love letter to an ELDERLY WOMAN. She reads it through tears, whispering “I knew he still loved me.” A ghostly hand rests briefly on her shoulder before fading.
— EXT. FREEWAY OVERPASS – MIDNIGHT: Alex strums his guitar while Emma live-streams. A ghostly teen sings along, finishing the lyrics of a song he never performed. The stream glitches with static, then ends.
— INT. APARTMENT – DAY: Emma helps a single mom open a box of her late brother’s belongings. Inside: a baseball mitt. A ghostly laugh echoes as the mitt briefly floats, then drops gently into her hands.
— EXT. CEMETERY – TWILIGHT: Alex lights candles for a soldier’s grave. Emma whispers the name aloud. A ghostly figure salutes and dissolves into starlight.
Back to the Café
INT. QUIRKY CAFÉ – NEXT DAY
The same café from before. This time it’s full. CUSTOMERS cluster in groups, all buzzing with ghost matches. Laptops glow. Phones ding. It’s like a paranormal support group.
Emma and Alex sit with coffees, exhausted but exhilarated.
EMMA
Okay. Let’s just… agree. This is insane.
Impossible. Shouldn’t be happening.
ALEX
(grins)
But it *is.*
He taps his guitar case.
ALEX (CONT’D)
Last night I helped a ghost finish his song. You saw it.
That wasn’t a bug. That was… closure.
Emma stares at her phone. Another notification:
“2 NEW MATCHES.”
She groans.
EMMA
They just keep coming.
ALEX
(smiling)
Yeah. And maybe we’re supposed to keep answering.
The Turning Point
The café LIGHTS FLICKER again. A hush falls. Every phone BUZZES at once. Customers gasp.
Emma’s phone vibrates violently. A NEW PROFILE appears:
CAMILA (24). The laundromat photo. Same unfinished bio:
“I always meant to call back.”
Emma’s hands shake.
EMMA
It’s her. She’s back.
Alex leans in, serious now.
ALEX
Then she’s not done.
The profile flickers. Text scrolls, jagged, unnatural:
“The door is opening wider. Careful who walks through.”
The café plunges into silence. Phones glitch. One by one, ghostly silhouettes flicker across the room, standing by their matches.
Some wave. Some weep. Some just stare.
Emma grips Alex’s hand without realizing it.
EMMA
We’re way over our heads.
ALEX
(smiling nervously)
Yeah. But at least we’re in it together.
FADE OUT.
Scene 4 — The Haunted Choice
INT. EMMA’S APARTMENT – NIGHT
A small one-bedroom lit only by the glow of monitors. Empty takeout boxes line the counter. Emma sits cross-legged on her couch, laptop open, HEARTLINE code streaming across the screen.
Her PHONE lies face-up beside her. Notifications stack relentlessly:
1 NEW MATCH
2 NEW MATCHES
Your ghost is waiting.
Emma mutters to herself, half frantic.
EMMA
This isn’t matchmaking, it’s… possession.
She digs through the code. Nothing looks corrupted. No intrusions. No data trail.
The desk lamp FLICKERS.
EMMA (CONT’D)
Not tonight.
A LOUD KNOCK rattles the door. Emma jumps.
She peeks through the peephole. It’s ALEX, drenched from rain, guitar strapped to his back.
EMMA
(opening door)
What are you doing here?
ALEX
My power’s out. Thought maybe you’d…
(beat)
Or maybe I just didn’t want to be alone.
Emma hesitates, then lets him in.
The Warning
Alex sets down his guitar and flops onto the couch. His phone buzzes. He grimaces.
ALEX
Three more tonight. One of them asked me to burn his letters.
The letters were real, Emma. They were in my mailbox.
Emma’s eyes widen.
EMMA
That’s impossible.
ALEX
(gently)
So was Antonio on the bike.
Her phone BUZZES again. A profile opens by itself. CAMILA. Same photo, laundromat background.
But the text is different this time:
“Stop. The door wasn’t meant for this many.”
Emma freezes.
EMMA
She’s warning us.
ALEX
About what?
The apartment lights FLICKER violently. A low HUM fills the room, not from the devices but from the walls.
Emma whispers—
EMMA
The door. The app… it’s a door.
The Manifestation
The HUM grows louder, like a freight train in the distance. Their phones BUZZ in unison.
On Emma’s screen: a new profile loads without swiping.
UNKNOWN USER
No photo. No name. Just static.
Bio:
“LET ME IN.”
The apartment temperature drops. Their breath fogs.
Suddenly — a SHADOW forms in the corner. Tall, jagged, faceless. It pulses in sync with the phone buzz.
Emma slams her laptop shut.
EMMA
That’s not a ghost.
ALEX
Then what the hell is it?
The SHADOW lurches toward them. Emma grabs the phone. The profile flickers between Camila and Unknown.
She yells at it.
EMMA
What do you want?!
A distorted VOICE erupts from both phones at once, like broken radio.
VOICE
(echoing)
You made the light… now we all can walk.
The SHADOW swells, stretching across the walls.
Emma, panicked, hurls her phone against the floor. It SHATTERS. The shadow shrinks back, sputtering, before vanishing.
Silence.
Emma and Alex pant, staring at the cracked phone.
The Argument
ALEX
(breathless)
You just— you killed your only connection.
EMMA
I killed an invasion. That wasn’t Camila.
ALEX
You don’t know that.
EMMA
Did you *see* it? That wasn’t closure. That was hunger.
Alex paces, running his hands through his hair.
ALEX
Emma, if we shut this down, every ghost we’ve helped—
the songs, the letters, Antonio’s race—none of that happens again.
EMMA
And if we don’t, something worse comes through.
They stare at each other, the unspoken pulling tight: both are right, both are afraid.
The Reveal
Emma reopens her laptop. She scrolls frantically through lines of code. Her face drains of color.
EMMA
Oh no.
ALEX
What?
EMMA
The app… it’s self-replicating. Every time someone helps a ghost,
it spawns another invitation. The more closure we give, the wider the door.
ALEX
(realizing)
We’re not solving it. We’re fueling it.
Emma nods grimly.
EMMA
If this keeps spreading, it won’t just be ghosts asking for closure.
It’ll be… whatever that was.
The Choice
The laptop screen blinks. A SYSTEM PROMPT fills the display:
“DELETE HEARTLINE? Y/N”
Emma’s finger hovers over the Y key.
EMMA
We shut it down. Tonight.
Alex steps in, grabbing her wrist.
ALEX
Wait. One last ghost. Camila.
Emma shakes her head violently.
EMMA
She’s the reason the door opened in the first place!
ALEX
Or she’s the only one trying to warn us. If we cut the cord before
she gets her closure, maybe we never find out how to close the door for good.
They lock eyes. Emma’s fear against Alex’s stubborn hope.
EMMA
If we keep it open… we risk letting that *thing* back in.
ALEX
And if we close it now… we may never get the key.
The SYSTEM PROMPT flickers, urgent:
“DELETE HEARTLINE? Y/N”
The HUM rises again, faint but building.
Emma exhales, torn.
EMMA
(whispering)
God help us.
FADE OUT.
Scene 5 — Closure and Connection
EXT. DOWNTOWN ROOFTOP – NIGHT
The city pulses with neon. Rain-slick streets mirror red and blue lights. EMMA and ALEX stand on the roof of her apartment building. Emma’s laptop glows on a crate, code racing across the screen. Her phone lies cracked but stubbornly alive, the HEARTLINE app still pulsing.
The HUM returns—low, thrumming, like thunder waiting to break.
On-screen: CAMILA’S profile. Same laundromat photo. Same eyes, unfinished and pleading.
“Please. One last call.”
Emma trembles. Alex grips her shoulder.
ALEX
This is it. She’s the key.
EMMA
(shaking)
Or the lock we should’ve broken days ago.
The screen glitches. The word DOOR flashes in corrupted text.
The Decision
Emma’s laptop prompts again:
“DELETE HEARTLINE? Y/N”
Her finger hovers. Alex stops her.
ALEX
If we close it without her, the door might stay cracked.
If we help her, maybe it shuts for good.
Emma searches his face. The hope in his eyes is reckless but unshakable. She exhales, defeated but willing.
EMMA
Fine. One last ghost. Then I burn this code to ash.
The Call
Emma taps ACCEPT. The screen flickers. The sound of a PAY PHONE RINGING fills the rooftop. Out of the misty night, a spectral pay phone materializes. Its metal glints under neon.
Emma and Alex stare.
ALEX
Guess we answer?
Emma steps forward, lifts the receiver. A cold rush envelops her.
EMMA
Camila?
The line CRACKLES. A young woman’s voice, trembling but urgent:
CAMILA (V.O.)
Thank you. Please… tell him I’m sorry.
EMMA
Tell who?
CAMILA (V.O.)
My brother. I left. I thought I’d call. I never did. He waited—
and then the accident—
The voice breaks. Static swallows it.
Emma’s phone vibrates violently. A NEW PROFILE appears: MIGUEL (22), guitar in hand. Bio: “Waiting for her call.”
Emma’s breath catches. She looks at Alex.
EMMA
He’s here. Her brother.
The Connection
The rooftop AIR SHIMMERS. A ghostly figure emerges—MIGUEL. Young, translucent, holding a guitar like Alex’s. His eyes—hurt but searching.
Emma turns the pay phone toward him. The line still hums.
EMMA
Miguel… she’s on the line.
The ghost approaches. His hands hover over the receiver, trembling. Emma holds it steady.
CAMILA (V.O.)
I’m sorry, Miguel. I thought I had time. I thought tomorrow was promised.
The ghost grips the receiver. His spectral form flickers violently—pain, anger, longing. Then, slowly, tears.
MIGUEL (ghostly whisper)
You don’t have to be sorry. I just wanted to hear you.
The ghost’s form steadies. He closes his eyes, listening as though the weight of years lifts.
The phone glows brighter, brighter—until the cord SNAPS into light. Camila’s voice lingers one last time.
CAMILA (V.O.)
Thank you. Goodbye.
The phone dissolves into starlight.
The Release
Miguel’s ghost exhales. His guitar flickers, then fades into his hands. He strums one final note—a soft, aching chord. He looks at Emma and Alex, gratitude etched across his fading form.
MIGUEL
You gave us back our goodbye.
His form disperses into the night sky. The HUM stops. Silence.
Emma stares at the empty rooftop, tears in her eyes. Her phone buzzes one last time:
“THE DOOR IS CLOSED.”
The app goes dark. The icon disappears. Her phone is just… a phone again.
The Aftermath
Emma collapses against the crate. Alex sits beside her, catching his breath. The city hums below, oblivious.
EMMA
It’s over.
ALEX
(smiles softly)
Or it’s just beginning.
She gives him a look.
EMMA
Don’t say that.
ALEX
No, I mean us.
A beat. The tension finally eases. They laugh, shaky but real.
Closing Image
They sit together on the rooftop edge, shoulders brushing. Emma gazes at the skyline, no longer menaced by shadows, just a city alive with stories.
Alex pulls his guitar into his lap, strums the same chord Miguel played. It drifts into the night like an answered prayer.
Emma opens her laptop one last time. She highlights the entire HEARTLINE codebase. Her finger hovers over DELETE.
She hesitates, then looks at Alex.
EMMA
We did good, right?
ALEX
We gave them back their voices. That’s more than good.
Emma presses DELETE. The screen wipes clean.
The camera PULLS BACK. From above, Emma and Alex are two tiny figures on a vast city rooftop, neon wrapping them in a glow. Between them: nothing supernatural, just connection.
FADE OUT.
Short Bios:
Emma Li
A 28-year-old programmer and reluctant heroine, Emma is logical, skeptical, and sharp-witted. She created the Heartline app as a side project, only to discover it had opened a door to the afterlife. Her journey transforms her from a cynic into someone who dares to believe in connection—both human and beyond.
Alex Rivera
A 30-year-old street musician with a crooked smile and a romantic’s heart, Alex is Emma’s opposite: open, idealistic, and fearless in chasing meaning. His guitar becomes both a tool for helping ghosts find closure and a symbol of his hopeful spirit.
Camila
A 24-year-old ghost whose unfinished phone call sets the story in motion. Haunting yet compassionate, she serves as both warning and guide, urging Emma and Alex to help close the door they unknowingly opened.
Miguel
Camila’s younger brother, who died still waiting for her call. His spectral presence gives the story its emotional climax, as Emma and Alex reunite the siblings for one final goodbye.
Antonio
A ghostly cyclist whose unfinished race in Griffith Park is Emma and Alex’s first mission. His closure moment shows them the app isn’t just a glitch—it’s a lifeline for lost souls.
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