Mira walked closer, her shadow falling across the screen.
She walked in, rain still clinging to her coat. His daughter, Mira. Thirty-two now. He hadn’t seen her in four years.
Outside, the tide was coming in.
“No,” Mira said softly. “You made it to prove you felt something. There’s a difference.”
“That’s not Mom,” she said. “That’s me. The day you left for the festival. I was seven. You promised to come back in a week. You came back in three years.” FILM SEMI
“You came,” he said.
In a decaying coastal town, a burnt-out director screens his unfinished semi-autobiographical film for the one person who inspired it — his estranged daughter. Mira walked closer, her shadow falling across the screen
Leo finally turned to face her. His hands were shaking.
He’d called the film Semi — a working title that had stuck for twenty years. Semi-true. Semi-finished. Semi-hopeful. Thirty-two now