INT. AIRPORT TERMINAL – GATE 12B – DAY
We see two guys sitting by the window.
One’s got wireless earbuds in, half-lidded eyes, legs crossed like he owns the hour.
This is YOU, cool, sovereign, unbothered.
Next to you is JARED, regular dude.
Neck tattoo.
Backwards cap.
Slight pit stains.
Watching the scene unfold across the terminal.
Across the way is HER, your partner.
In the food court.
Casual, radiant, sipping a bubble tea like the queen of an empire that doesn’t require borders.
Standing in front of her:
THE SUITOR, let’s call him KYLE.
Think tech bro meets motivational speaker. Button-down shirt, Patagonia vest, trying too hard to seem like he isn’t trying.
JARED (nudging you):
Yo… bro.
Aye mate, you better go get your girl.
That guy over there tryna slide in.
INNER MONOLOGUE – YOU
Here we go.
The sacred ritual of the insecure male.
See woman.
Assume possession.
See man talk to woman.
Must intervene.
Or else… what?
Am I supposed to growl now?
Beat my chest?
Mark territory?
You take one earbud out.
Stand slowly.
Crack your neck.
YOU (deadpan, projecting):
SLAVE! COME BACK HERE!
The terminal goes silent.
People look up from phones.
TSA pauses.
Kyle freezes mid-sentence.
KYLE (to her, visibly uncomfortable):
Uhhh…
Did he just call you?
HER (laughing, struggling to breathe):
Yup.
KYLE (confused):
Are you… okay with that?
HER:
Oh, absolutely.
KYLE (genuinely concerned):
But… that’s kinda messed up, no?
He yelled ‘slave’. In an airport.
That’s like… problematic, right?
HER (grinning):
Only if you think it’s real.
Kyle blinks.
He’s not sure if he just stepped into a kink, a cult, or an improv class.
KYLE (trying again):
I mean… I don’t want to assume anything but like…
You deserve better than that, don’t you?
HER:
I deserve what I choose.
KYLE:
So… you’re saying… he owns you?
HER:
No.
He owns himself.
That’s the difference.
You’re trying to win me.
He doesn’t have to.
Kyle looks like he just got slapped by a philosophy textbook.
He starts blinking rapidly, scrolling through his mental pickup lines for the appropriate response.
Finds none.
Cut back to you.
You watch all this calmly, then raise the volume:
YOU:
SLAVE, I SAID COME HERE THIS INSTANT!
She laughs so hard she doubles over.
Kyle’s holding the tray of teriyaki chicken like it’s a moral compass.
JARED (wide-eyed):
Dude… what the hell kinda relationship is this?
She’s still in the food court.
Kyle’s still there. Trying.
The crowd is growing.
Eyes flicking between you and the unfolding situation like it’s reality TV with no ad breaks.
JARED (next to you, whispering):
Yo… that didn’t land, man.
You lost the crowd.
She ice-cold ghostin’ your ass right now.
YOU (stoic):
Hmm. Time to evolve the performance.
Without warning, you stand up.
Lock eyes with Jared.
Then—you begin.
YOU (dramatic, arms raised to the sky):
WHAT AM I WITHOUT HER?
WHO AM I IF I DO NOT POSSESS HER?
Kyle tries to offer her a napkin.
She deadpans him into oblivion.
You sit with your head in your hands like a Shakespearean gorilla having an existential breakdown.
YOU:
SLAAAVE! WHY HAST THOU FORSAKEN ME?!
FATHER FORGIVE HER, FOR SHE DOES NOT KNOW WHAT SHE IS DOING.
The terminal has become a live soap opera.
Someone starts filming.
Someone else whispers, “Is this Banksy?”
A man yells, “Let him love the woman, damn it!”
YOU (shrug in performative defeat):
*Wiping fake tears from your eyes*
Jared, I tried and I tried, but I guess she’s not my girl...
She's....She's her own woman...
And you sit.
Like nothing happened.
And then—silence.
The moment fill the air where everyone is confused and waiting for what comes next.
She finally walks back.
Slowly.
Deliberately.
Like a queen returning from exile.
She leans down.
Whispers softly:
HER:
Was that necessary?
You are so not getting laid for that.
Hands you a grape from her smoothie like it’s Eucharist.
Then walks back to her seat like nothing happened.
JARED:
…Bro… what is this relationship?
YOU (putting your shirt back on):
Performance art.
Sovereign love.
Borderline felony.
Depends on who’s watching.
INNER MONOLOGUE – KYLE
Wait… she’s not his girl?
But she’s laughing.
She’s not running.
She’s not scared.
She’s… glowing.
WTF is happening here?
INNER MONOLOGUE – HER
Poor guy.
Still thinks love is a loyalty program.
Still believes girls are prizes and boyfriends are guards.
Still trying to save someone who’s not drowning.
INNER MONOLOGUE – YOU
Let the man learn.
Let the mask crack.
Maybe next time he won’t show up as a savior.
Maybe next time… he’ll show up as himself.
Kyle gently places the food on the table.
Walks away slowly, like a man who just left a cult but suspects he might have been the one inside the cage all along.
And when a girl says you're not getting laid, you're definitely getting laid.
YOU:
Can I get another grape?😏
Kyle: