11/10/2025
BEAUTIFUL 🌹
“I Still Breathe for You”
INT. ABUJA CONFERENCE CENTRE – RAINY AFTERNOON
Rain drums softly against the tall glass windows of the bustling conference hall.
People move in and out with umbrellas. The air smells of coffee, perfume, and ambition.
AMARA (28) sits alone by the window café inside the centre — elegant, thoughtful, a glass of juice beside her, and her inhaler resting quietly on the table.
She stares out, lost in the rhythm of raindrops chasing each other down the glass.
DAVID (32) walks in with two colleagues — tall, composed, radiating quiet confidence. The kind of man who owns a room without saying a word.
Their eyes meet.
She smiles politely.
He walks past.
Then stops.
Turns back.
DAVID
(softly, holding out a tissue)
I think you dropped this.
AMARA
(smiles, amused)
I didn’t.
DAVID
I know. But it seemed like a good reason to say hi.
She laughs — gentle, musical.
That was how it began.
INT. COFFEE SHOP – WEEKS LATER
Laughter. Shared glances. Inside jokes.
They sit across from each other, two souls who’ve found rhythm in the same heartbeat.
was a banker — disciplined, kind, and asthmatic since birth.
He was a tech entrepreneur — brilliant, grounded, and the definition of quiet success.
Their love grew like wildfire, fanned by the wind.
MONTAGE – THEIR LOVE STORY
David holding her hand during an asthma attack.
Flying her to Lagos every two weeks — dinner at Sky Restaurant, shopping, sunsets on Banana Island.
Surprising her parents with a vacation to Ghana.
Whispering “Breathe for me, just breathe” by her hospital bedside.
said theirs was the kind of love that made heaven jealous.
They weren’t wrong.
INT. AMARA’S BEDROOM – SATURDAY MORNING
Amara lounges lazily in bed. Her younger sister, CHIOMA (21), walks in holding a brown envelope.
CHIOMA
Sister, I think you should see this.
Amara opens it absentmindedly — then freezes.
CLOSE ON:
Genotype: SS
Partner: AS
Her hands tremble.
Her breathing quickens.
EXT. ABUJA GARDEN – EVENING
They sit quietly on a bench. The sunset glows red behind them.
AMARA
(voice shaking)
Our children... they could—
DAVID
We’ll find a way. Don’t say it.
AMARA
David, we can’t ignore—
DAVID
Then we’ll adopt. I can’t lose you, Amara.
She looks at him, tears in her eyes.
INT. OFFICE – ONE MONTH LATER
Amara collapses at her desk. Panic. Chaos.
Paramedics rush in.
ASTHMA ATTACK — COMPLICATED BY SICKLE CELL CRISIS.
Cut to:
David running through an airport.
David praying outside the ICU, face buried in his hands.
begged God for her life.
Promised anything — if she would just wake up.
INT. HOSPITAL ROOM – NIGHT
Amara opens her eyes. Her voice is faint.
AMARA
Maybe this is God’s way of saying stop.
DAVID
Don’t say that. Please.
AMARA
I love you too much to destroy your future.
DAVID
You are my future.
She whispers, almost gone —
AMARA
Please… don’t make me choose between love and life.
She closes her eyes.
EXT. AMARA’S PARENTS’ HOUSE – DAY
David stands outside the gate, exhausted, desperate.
Her father steps out slowly.
FATHER
Son… sometimes love isn’t enough.
David stares silently, then walks away.
INT. AMARA’S ROOM – DAWN (THREE MONTHS LATER)
Her mother opens the door.
Amara lies still in bed. Her inhaler is on the floor beside her.
doctor said she must have tried to reach for it... but couldn’t make it in time.
INT. DAVID’S OFFICE – AFTERNOON
David gets the news. He stands up from a meeting, expression blank.
Walks out silently.
No tears. No words.
EXT. GRAVESITE – TWO WEEKS LATER
White lilies rest on a fresh grave.
A handwritten note beside them reads:
“I still breathe for you.”
Wind rustles the paper.
that day, no one saw him again.
Some say he relocated.
Some say he lost his mind.
And some…
say he went to join her.
FADE OUT.
🕊️ “I Still Breathe for You”
