A Concession to Frost
Amidst the stark beauty of a Winnipeg winter, Elizabeth grapples with the lingering ghosts of past decisions and the unexpected warmth of a shared moment in Central Park, finding an uncertain comfort in the cold.
TITLE: A CONCESSION TO FROST
EXT. CITY PARK - DAY
A vast, hushed landscape of white. Snow blankets everything, muffling the distant city. The air is sharp, crystalline.
SOUND of a solitary, rhythmic CRUNCH... CRUNCH... CRUNCH...
ELIZABETH (22), introspective and bundled in a heavy coat, walks a compacted path. Each breath is a plume of white vapor that hangs in the frigid air before vanishing.
She stops, pulls out her PHONE. Her thumb hovers over her email app. We see the top email in her inbox:
SUBJECT: Follow-Up Regarding Your Application Status
FROM: University of Toronto Admissions
Her expression is a mixture of anxiety and exhaustion. She doesn't open it. Instead, she shoves the phone back into her pocket and kicks at a snowdrift piled against a gnarled oak. A spray of powder hangs in the still air.
A long, gangly shadow falls beside hers. She doesn't look up. A familiar scent of pine and worn wool.
LIAM (O.S.)
> Thinking about anything important, or just admiring the artistic merits of a frozen dog turd?
Elizabeth turns. A small, reluctant smile finds her lips.
LIAM (22) stands there, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, snowflakes clinging to the dark curls escaping his toque. His eyes, warm and knowing, hold hers.
ELIZABETH
> Just contemplating the existential dread of unread emails. And the general bleakness of my future.
LIAM
>>(a scoff, a puff of steam)
> Dramatic much? You know it’s never as bad as your inner monologue makes it out to be.
He falls into step beside her as she starts walking again.
LIAM (CONT'D)
> Besides, I was actually looking for you.
ELIZABETH
> Looking for me? Why?
LIAM
> Thought you might appreciate the company. And I have news. The good kind, I think.
A flicker of something—curiosity, apprehension—crosses Elizabeth's face.
ELIZABETH
> Spill.
Liam takes a breath, his easy demeanor shifting to something more serious, more vulnerable.
LIAM
> The architecture firm in Calgary. They, uh... they made an offer. A real one. Junior associate, benefits, the whole nine yards.
Elizabeth stops dead. She turns to face him fully. The pale light catches the tiny ice crystals in the air between them.
CLOSE ON ELIZABETH'S FACE. A flash of genuine joy for him, instantly clouded by the devastating personal implication.
ELIZABETH
> Liam! That’s... that’s incredible. Seriously. That’s what you’ve been working for, right?
Her enthusiasm is real, but a subtle ache undercuts it.
LIAM
>>(a cautious smile)
> Yeah. It’s... it’s a big deal. The kind of opportunity I probably won’t see again for a while. Especially not here.
He gestures vaguely at the frozen, familiar landscape.
ELIZABETH
>>(quietly)
> No, it’s not.
They start walking again, but the rhythm is gone. The comfortable sync of their steps is now stilted, awkward. He glances at her, waiting.
ELIZABETH
>>(the question heavy)
> So, what are you going to do?
LIAM
> I don’t know. It’s a good offer. A *really* good offer. But...
He stops, turning his head to search her face. The question is loaded, asking about more than just a job.
LIAM (CONT'D)
> What do *you* think?
The question hangs in the air. Elizabeth looks away, towards the distant, indifferent skyline. She chooses her words carefully, building a wall of support to hide behind.
ELIZABETH
> I think... I think you have to do what’s right for you, Liam. What’s going to make you feel like you’re actually *doing* something with all that... talent.
The words feel inadequate, safe.
Liam is silent for a long moment. SOUND of wind whispering through bare branches. He lets out a slow breath.
LIAM
> Yeah. I guess that’s what I have to do.
>>(a beat, softer)
> But... I was hoping you’d say something else.
His honesty cuts through her deflection. Her gaze snaps back to his. There's no anger in his eyes, only a deep, abiding sadness. An invitation.
He reaches out. His gloved hand gently covers hers where it rests in her coat pocket. The warmth, even through the layers, is immediate, startling.
ELIZABETH
>>(a raw whisper)
> I don’t know what else to say, Liam. I’m scared. Scared of staying, scared of leaving. Scared of... changing everything.
He squeezes her hand lightly, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of her glove. He holds her gaze, earnest and hopeful.
LIAM
> We could figure it out, Elizabeth. We always have. What if... what if we figure it out together?
The world seems to fall away. The city sounds recede, leaving them in a bubble of cold air and unspoken history.
Her heart thrums against her ribs. Her expression is a war of terror and hope. The choice is tangible, terrifyingly close.
She doesn’t speak.
Slowly, she squeezes his hand back. A small, almost imperceptible gesture that carries the weight of everything.
CLOSE ON ELIZABETH'S FACE, caught in the precipice. The exhilarating terror of two futures—one with him, one without—converging into a single, impossible moment.
FADE TO BLACK.
EXT. CITY PARK - DAY
A vast, hushed landscape of white. Snow blankets everything, muffling the distant city. The air is sharp, crystalline.
SOUND of a solitary, rhythmic CRUNCH... CRUNCH... CRUNCH...
ELIZABETH (22), introspective and bundled in a heavy coat, walks a compacted path. Each breath is a plume of white vapor that hangs in the frigid air before vanishing.
She stops, pulls out her PHONE. Her thumb hovers over her email app. We see the top email in her inbox:
SUBJECT: Follow-Up Regarding Your Application Status
FROM: University of Toronto Admissions
Her expression is a mixture of anxiety and exhaustion. She doesn't open it. Instead, she shoves the phone back into her pocket and kicks at a snowdrift piled against a gnarled oak. A spray of powder hangs in the still air.
A long, gangly shadow falls beside hers. She doesn't look up. A familiar scent of pine and worn wool.
LIAM (O.S.)
> Thinking about anything important, or just admiring the artistic merits of a frozen dog turd?
Elizabeth turns. A small, reluctant smile finds her lips.
LIAM (22) stands there, his cheeks ruddy from the cold, snowflakes clinging to the dark curls escaping his toque. His eyes, warm and knowing, hold hers.
ELIZABETH
> Just contemplating the existential dread of unread emails. And the general bleakness of my future.
LIAM
>>(a scoff, a puff of steam)
> Dramatic much? You know it’s never as bad as your inner monologue makes it out to be.
He falls into step beside her as she starts walking again.
LIAM (CONT'D)
> Besides, I was actually looking for you.
ELIZABETH
> Looking for me? Why?
LIAM
> Thought you might appreciate the company. And I have news. The good kind, I think.
A flicker of something—curiosity, apprehension—crosses Elizabeth's face.
ELIZABETH
> Spill.
Liam takes a breath, his easy demeanor shifting to something more serious, more vulnerable.
LIAM
> The architecture firm in Calgary. They, uh... they made an offer. A real one. Junior associate, benefits, the whole nine yards.
Elizabeth stops dead. She turns to face him fully. The pale light catches the tiny ice crystals in the air between them.
CLOSE ON ELIZABETH'S FACE. A flash of genuine joy for him, instantly clouded by the devastating personal implication.
ELIZABETH
> Liam! That’s... that’s incredible. Seriously. That’s what you’ve been working for, right?
Her enthusiasm is real, but a subtle ache undercuts it.
LIAM
>>(a cautious smile)
> Yeah. It’s... it’s a big deal. The kind of opportunity I probably won’t see again for a while. Especially not here.
He gestures vaguely at the frozen, familiar landscape.
ELIZABETH
>>(quietly)
> No, it’s not.
They start walking again, but the rhythm is gone. The comfortable sync of their steps is now stilted, awkward. He glances at her, waiting.
ELIZABETH
>>(the question heavy)
> So, what are you going to do?
LIAM
> I don’t know. It’s a good offer. A *really* good offer. But...
He stops, turning his head to search her face. The question is loaded, asking about more than just a job.
LIAM (CONT'D)
> What do *you* think?
The question hangs in the air. Elizabeth looks away, towards the distant, indifferent skyline. She chooses her words carefully, building a wall of support to hide behind.
ELIZABETH
> I think... I think you have to do what’s right for you, Liam. What’s going to make you feel like you’re actually *doing* something with all that... talent.
The words feel inadequate, safe.
Liam is silent for a long moment. SOUND of wind whispering through bare branches. He lets out a slow breath.
LIAM
> Yeah. I guess that’s what I have to do.
>>(a beat, softer)
> But... I was hoping you’d say something else.
His honesty cuts through her deflection. Her gaze snaps back to his. There's no anger in his eyes, only a deep, abiding sadness. An invitation.
He reaches out. His gloved hand gently covers hers where it rests in her coat pocket. The warmth, even through the layers, is immediate, startling.
ELIZABETH
>>(a raw whisper)
> I don’t know what else to say, Liam. I’m scared. Scared of staying, scared of leaving. Scared of... changing everything.
He squeezes her hand lightly, his thumb tracing a small circle on the back of her glove. He holds her gaze, earnest and hopeful.
LIAM
> We could figure it out, Elizabeth. We always have. What if... what if we figure it out together?
The world seems to fall away. The city sounds recede, leaving them in a bubble of cold air and unspoken history.
Her heart thrums against her ribs. Her expression is a war of terror and hope. The choice is tangible, terrifyingly close.
She doesn’t speak.
Slowly, she squeezes his hand back. A small, almost imperceptible gesture that carries the weight of everything.
CLOSE ON ELIZABETH'S FACE, caught in the precipice. The exhilarating terror of two futures—one with him, one without—converging into a single, impossible moment.
FADE TO BLACK.