After watching the final cut of Eva's film, Alan, the VFX artist, was left reeling. He needed a moment. Once the initial shock wore off, he sat down to watch the footage again—this time, with a critical eye.
Before, he had been too stunned to notice anything but the sheer audacity of the long take. Now, he looked closer.
He discovered that Eva hadn't just pulled off a technical miracle; she had nailed the details, too.
The color grading, in particular, was spectacular. She must have worked closely with the art director because the palette was exquisite.
If he had to describe the colors, he'd use words like electric, harmonious, spicy, outstanding.
The actors, the background, the costumes—everything looked like pigment splashed from a painter's palette onto the screen. It fit the theme of the short perfectly: vibrant, stimulating, hot.
Then there was the acting. Eva had directed her cast with precision. The lead actress, Saoirse, channeled that Saoirse Ronan energy perfectly.
By the time he finished his second viewing, Alan was a believer. That one-take shot alone was enough to crown Eva the rookie of the year.
The next day, when Eva arrived at the studio, the atmosphere had shifted completely. The skepticism was gone, replaced by something bordering on reverence.
The VFX artists, sound engineers, and editors looked at her like she was a diamond they had just dug out of the dirt.
"Hey, kid," one of them said. "We watched the footage."
"How the hell did you do that? Five whole minutes!"
"God, I can't believe it. You're eighteen? And you shot that?"
"You have my respect. Seriously."
Eva accepted the praise with a polite smile. It felt good to be recognized, sure, but part of her felt a little detached. She wasn't really eighteen, and she wasn't really a rookie.
This wasn't success yet.
Real success was still a long way off.
She kept her complex emotions hidden and played the part of the happy young director. "I'm glad you liked it. Thank you."
Then, she got to work.
Since there were no cuts, the editor had the day off. The focus was entirely on VFX and sound.
Eva had shot on film. It was risky and expensive—one bad take meant wasting physical stock—but for a five-minute short, she could afford it. Just barely.
Digital was the standard now—cheaper, faster, easier—but some directors still swore by celluloid. The texture, the grain, the depth... digital couldn't replicate it.
And the color grading on film just felt more real.
Eva was notoriously picky about color.
"I don't want it to look like the 6 o'clock news," she told the colorist. "I know getting that cinematic texture takes time and money, so I'm not asking for a full DI process. Just... saturate it. Push the saturation."
High contrast. High saturation. Vivid, punchy colors. That was her mandate.
Color reflects emotion. In a film about the vitality of Dublin, the world needed to look bright, brilliant, and alive.
She wanted a fairytale aesthetic.
She wanted the film to look like candy, like cake, like wine—sweet, rich, and intoxicating.
Powder blues, mint greens, creamy reds. Sweet and cloying.
Eva spent most of the post-production phase obsessing over color.
Sound was easier. She just needed to sync the track from Spring Awakening.
All in all, how complicated could post-production be for a five-minute short with no edits? It took a few days, tops.
Not having to cut the film saved an immense amount of time.
After a long day at the studio, Eva was packing up to head back to her rental apartment when her phone rang. It was Saoirse.
"Hey! A new coffee shop just opened up. Want to check it out?"
Eva agreed. A cold drink sounded perfect after a day in the studio.
When she arrived, Saoirse was already waiting.
"Eva!" Saoirse smiled sweetly. "How's the film coming along?"
Eva downed a glass of ice water in one go. "Not bad. Should be done within the week."
Saoirse blinked, a mischievous glint in her eye. "So... Eva. There's a rumor going around. Everyone thinks you're... a lesbian. Are you?"
Eva tilted her head. "Why do they think that?"
Saoirse smirked. "Because you seem to really hate boys."
Eva paused. "I don't know. Maybe I am. Maybe I'm not."
"Wow," Saoirse laughed. "I didn't know 'undecided' was an option."
Eva chuckled. "Is it that surprising? But yes, I do prefer the company of women."
"I'm straight," Saoirse admitted with a laugh, "but for someone like Kristen Stewart? I might switch teams."
Eva laughed. Kristen Stewart was currently the biggest star on the planet thanks to Twilight. Ironically, despite her high-profile romance with her co-star, she would eventually switch teams in real life.
"Well, good luck," Eva said. "Maybe you'll get your chance."
"Yeah right," Saoirse sighed. "I can't even get an audition, let alone meet K-Stew."
"That's why you have to work hard," Eva said, her tone shifting to something more serious. "It's called a dream because you have to wake up and chase it."
They were nobodies right now. They couldn't even touch the hem of a Hollywood star's garment.
But Eva believed that gap was just a measure of the work left to do.
---
The main challenge of the five-minute short had been the shoot itself.
Post-production was a breeze. Within a week, Eva and the studio team had polished it off.
She paid the remaining balance, took the master copy home, burned it onto a DVD, filled out the application form, and submitted it to the competition organizers.
Now, it was a waiting game. The judges would select the finalists, and the winners would be announced at an awards ceremony.
On her way back to her apartment after dropping off the submission, Eva passed her old address—the villa in the wealthy district.
It looked empty.
Coincidentally, she saw one of the maids standing at the gate with a real estate agent. They were discussing selling the property.
Eva tried to walk past unnoticed, but the maid spotted her. "Miss Codi!"
Eva stopped. "Long time no see. Is the house being sold?"
The maid looked Eva up and down. "Yes. Mr. Scott asked to put it on the market. He said he won't be using it much anymore. Actually, it's good you're here—I packed up some things you left behind."
Eva nodded. "Okay. Thank you."
"Don't mention it," the maid said politely. "Mr. Scott isn't here, so you don't need to worry."
Eva smiled faintly. "I don't care if he's here or not. We have nothing to do with each other anymore."
"I have his contact information if you need it..." the maid offered, her voice tinged with pity.
"I don't need it. Thanks anyway," Eva replied firmly.
The maid probably saw Eva as a tragic figure—a kept woman cast aside, surely desperate and heartbroken.
But that was the old Eva.
The new Eva wanted absolutely nothing to do with Alexander Scott.
Eva took the box of her old belongings—mostly photo albums—and left.
---
Meanwhile, at the Irish Film Institute, the competition organizers were hard at work.
The judges were sifting through the mountain of entries to select the finalists.
It was a headache. The quality varied wildly.
Some films were so bad they were turned off after the opening scene. Others showed a flash of brilliance in a single shot and were watched to the end.
Rosen, one of the judges responsible for the initial screening, sat in front of a monitor.
He had to watch about ten shorts a day and score them.
Before watching, he always glanced at the director's resume.
He picked up Eva's file.
Honestly, he'd seen it all. Wild resumes from self-taught amateurs, pretentious art students, you name it.
Eva's resume was decent. A student at the National Film School. A proper, trained candidate.
He wasn't expecting much, though. He'd seen plenty of "trained" students turn out mediocre work.
He pressed play.
He checked the runtime. Five minutes.
Based on experience, he figured he'd watch two or three minutes before getting the gist and turning it off.
The screen lit up.
The first shot had a distinct style—reminiscent of European cinema verité.
But what caught Rosen's eye immediately was the color.
Bold.
Powder blue, mint green, creamy red, soft yellow.
The palette was incredibly coordinated.
The director had clearly poured blood, sweat, and tears into the color grading.
And the texture... it looked like film.
She shot on celluloid?
That was rare. In the age of digital dominance, where Kodak was practically on life support, finding a student shooting on film was like finding a unicorn.
He appreciated the commitment to the craft.
But style wasn't enough.
Rosen kept watching.
A colleague, Charlie, knocked on the door and entered. Seeing Rosen focused on the screen, Charlie sat down quietly and started watching too.
The room fell silent.
As the film progressed, both judges realized something.
The director had ambition.
Is she... is she showing off?
Two minutes. Three minutes. Four minutes.
The time ticked by.
And the camera never cut.
Rosen and Charlie exchanged a glance. It was a look of mutual shock.
The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.
On screen, people wove in and out. The background shifted constantly. The space went from cramped hallways to open streets and back again.
But through it all, the camera flowed. One continuous, unbroken gaze.
The judges didn't speak, but their expressions said it all. Their brows furrowed; their mouths hung slightly open.
This is insane. Is it really a five-minute one-take?
The fifth minute arrived. The camera held on the final shot. The screen faded to black.
Rosen suddenly burst out laughing. He turned to his colleague. "Charlie, what do you have to say?"
Charlie was still staring at the blank screen, legs crossed, processing the shock.
"Extraordinary," Charlie murmured. "Who directed this?"
Rosen's voice trembled with excitement. "No one famous. A complete rookie."
Charlie blinked, then scoffed. "Impossible. You're messing with me. A shot like that? That takes twenty years of experience and a hell of a lot of talent."
Rosen grinned, waving Eva's resume in the air. "I'm telling you. It's a total newcomer."
Charlie looked dumbfounded. "Unbelievable. Are you serious?"
A complete rookie pulling off a flawless five-minute long take?
If word got out, people would lose their minds.
Rosen didn't answer. He couldn't.
Instead, a playful smile curled on his lips.
"This girl... she's going to be interesting."