You are Alice. From this moment on, you live in a film.
Emma had been driving her daughter through the quiet streets of Manchester for over an hour. They stopped at a couple of shops—not to buy anything, just to pretend, for a little while, that they were an ordinary family. All they bought was an ice cream and some juice. Later, they sat on a bench near their building, beneath a blossoming cherry tree. Lucy adored these walks and never wanted to go home—it felt to her that here, under the open sky, she was just a little closer to freedom.
Then, out of nowhere, a van with “FILM CREW” printed on the side pulled up to the curb. A tall man stepped out, scanned the courtyard, and with a smile, walked straight toward them. He stopped right in front of Lucy.
“You’re Lucy?”
“Yes…” she stammered, confused.
“I came for you.”
“For me?” Her heart thudded wildly.
“Do you want to be in a movie?”
Lucy glanced at her mum, then back at the stranger, her voice trembling with hurt.
“Why are you joking?”
“I’m not joking. My name is James. I’m a director. We’re looking for our lead, and you—you’re perfect.”
Emma didn’t believe it at first, but when she saw the fire in her daughter’s eyes, the real, raw hope flickering across her face, she simply nodded.
“If this isn’t some cruel prank, then let’s give it a go.”
And just like that, they were on a film set. Lucy was wheeled into the centre of a massive hall—blinding lights, cameras, an eerie silence. Then, a young man appeared—tall, charming, with a smile like something out of a romance.
“Hey. I’m Daniel. I play your love interest. And you—you’re Alice.”
Lucy couldn’t speak. None of this felt real. She wasn’t an actress—just a girl in a wheelchair who’d somehow been plucked from her life and dropped into a story.
The filming began. They taught her, guided her, shaped her. First came scenes with her on-screen parents, then with Daniel. Line after line, take after take—but Lucy wasn’t acting. She was living. She cried when her character was abandoned, laughed when he cracked a joke. And when Daniel lifted her into his arms and gazed into her eyes, her heart hammered like mad. This wasn’t just a film. It was her life, framed by the camera.
James, the director, adored her. “You’re real,” he’d say. “You’re my Alice. You’re not acting—you’re breathing it.”
She bloomed like a flower. Every day had meaning. Her first kiss—scripted, but to her, it was real. Even when stunt doubles handled the dangerous scenes—jumping into water, being lifted—Lucy didn’t resent it. Because her soul was still on screen.
Weeks passed. Filming wrapped. The crew scattered. Lucy found herself back in her old spot under the cherry tree. But now, she had a name in the credits. Experience. And a heart full of sensations.
Emma said, proud, “Love, in two months, you’ve earned nearly fifty thousand quid. We can buy you anything.”
“I’m not a princess, Mum…” Lucy looked down at her legs, voice heavy.
“But you were one. And you will be again.”
Then—a taxi pulled up. Out stepped Daniel. Holding flowers. Real ones. No cameras. No script.
“Are those… for me?” she whispered.
“Yes, Lucy. I want to be with you. For real. No more films.”
…And somewhere, in a doctor’s office, James poured two glasses of whisky, clinking his against the other man’s.
“Thank you. For Lucy. She didn’t just change the film—she changed me.”
“Happy to help,” the doctor smiled. “What’s next?”
“In the sequel, Alice walks out of that wheelchair.”
“How long do I have?”
“Two years.”
“We’ll do it.”
And at that very moment, fate was already drafting a new script—not on paper, but in Lucy’s life. No longer just a girl in a wheelchair, she had become the heroine of her own story.
