You’re Alice. From now on, you live in the movies.
Emily had been driving her daughter around the streets of Manchester for over an hour. They popped into a few shops—not to buy anything, just to feel like any other family. In the end, they only grabbed an ice cream and some juice. Then they sat on a bench outside their building under a blooming cherry tree. Lily adored these evening walks and never wanted to go home—it felt like under the open sky, she was just a little closer to freedom.
Suddenly, a van pulled up with “FILM CREW” written on the side. A tall man stepped out, scanned the street, then walked over with a grin. He stopped right in front of Lily.
“You’re Lily?”
“Yeah…” she said, confused.
“I’m here for you.”
“For me?” Her heart raced.
“Want to be in a movie?”
Lily glanced at her mum, then back at the stranger, her voice tinged with frustration: “Why are you messing with me?”
“I’m not. My name’s Thomas—I’m a director. We need a lead, and you’re perfect.”
Emily didn’t believe it at first, but seeing the hope in her daughter’s eyes, she just nodded. “If this is real, let’s give it a go.”
And just like that, they were on set. Lily was wheeled into the middle of a studio—bright lights, cameras, silence. Then a guy appeared—tall, charming, with a movie-star smile.
“Hey. I’m James. I play your love interest. And you—you’re Alice.”
Lily didn’t reply. She couldn’t believe any of this was real. She wasn’t an actress—just a girl in a wheelchair who’d somehow become part of a story.
Filming began. They coached her, guided her, scene by scene. First with the parents, then with James. But the thing was—Lily wasn’t acting. She was living. Crying when her character was hurt, laughing at the jokes. And when James lifted her into his arms, her heart went wild. This wasn’t just a film. It was her life, framed on-screen.
Thomas, the director, adored her. “You’re real,” he’d say. “You’re my Alice. You don’t act—you breathe this.”
She bloomed like a flower. Every day mattered. Her first kiss—scripted, but to her, it was real. Even when a stunt double took over for tricky scenes—water sequences, lifts—Lily never minded. Because her soul was still up there.
Weeks passed. Filming wrapped. Everyone left. Lily was back on her bench, under the same cherry tree. But now, she had a name in the credits. Experience. A heart full of feelings.
Emily said proudly, “You earned nearly fifty grand in two months. We can get you anything.”
“I’m not a princess, Mum…” Lily sighed, looking at her legs.
“But you were one. And you will be again.”
Then—another car. A cab. James stepped out. With flowers. Real ones. No cameras. No script.
“These for me?” she whispered.
“For you, Lily. I want to be with you. For real. No movies.”
…Meanwhile, in some doctor’s office, Thomas poured two glasses and grinned. “Thank you for Lily. She didn’t just change the film—she changed me.”
“Happy to help,” the doctor smiled. “What’s the plan now?”
“In the sequel, Alice walks out of that chair.”
“How long do we have?”
“Two years.”
“We’ll make it.”
And just like that, fate was drafting a new script—not on paper, but in Lily’s life. No longer just a girl in a wheelchair, but the star of her own story.
