You’re Alice. From now on, you live in a film.
Emily had been driving her daughter around the streets of Manchester for over an hour. They’d popped into a couple of shops—not to buy anything, just to feel like a regular family. All they got was ice cream and juice. Then they sat on a bench near their building under a blooming cherry tree. Lily adored these walks and wasn’t in a rush to go home—under the open sky, she felt 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 area, and walked straight toward them with a smile. He stopped right in front of Lily.
“You’re Lily?”
“Y-yes…” she stammered.
“I’ve come 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 hurt.
“Why are you joking?”
“I’m not joking. I’m James, a director. We’re looking for our lead. You’d be perfect.”
Emily was skeptical, but seeing the hope lighting up her daughter’s face, 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 centre of the room—bright lights, cameras, silence. Then, a guy appeared—tall, charming, with a smile straight out of a film.
“Hey. I’m Daniel. In this, I’m your co-star. And you—you’re Alice.”
Lily couldn’t speak. This couldn’t be real. She wasn’t an actress—just a girl in a wheelchair who’d suddenly become part of a story.
Filming began. They coached her, guided her. First, scenes with her parents, then with Daniel. Line by line, take by take—but Lily wasn’t acting. She was living. Crying when her character was abandoned, laughing at Daniel’s jokes. And when he lifted her into his arms, her heart pounded like mad. This wasn’t just a role. It was her life, framed on screen.
James, the director, adored her.
“You’re real. You *are* Alice. You’re not acting—you’re *breathing* it.”
She blossomed. Every day had purpose. Her first kiss—on camera, but to her, it was real. Even when stunt doubles handled the tougher scenes—water jumps, lifts—Lily didn’t mind. Her soul was still up there.
Weeks passed. Filming wrapped. Everyone left. Lily was back under the cherry tree in her neighbourhood. But now, she had a name in the credits. Experience. And a heart full of feeling.
Emily beamed.
“Imagine—you’ve 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 taxi. Daniel stepped out. With flowers. Real ones. No cameras. No script.
“Are these… for me?”
“For you, Lily. I want to be with you. For real. No film.”
…Meanwhile, in a doctor’s office, James poured two glasses and grinned.
“Thank you for Lily. She didn’t just change the film—she changed *me*.”
“Glad I could help,” the doctor smiled. “What’s next?”
“In the sequel, Alice walks out of that wheelchair.”
“How long do we have?”
“Two years.”
“We’ll manage.”
And just like that, fate was writing a new script—not on paper, but in Lily’s life. No longer just a girl in a wheelchair. Now, she was the star of her own story.
