Run: 2026-03-03-01KJTZSMN9MS92KYQ9B38JWBC5

### Scene Setup The warm, apple-scented Red Apple Café in downtown Alborn, MN hums softly with clinking mugs and local chatter. Selvi—30-year-old study abroad student, camera slung over her shoulder and propped open on the corner booth table—stares at photos she took that morning at Honeycrisp Orchards, site of the town’s latest missing person case. Her hands tremble slightly, and she’s clearly shaken by the blurry shadow shot she captured there. Detective Hunter, broad-shouldered former marine turned detective, approaches with a black coffee and a folded missing person flier, leaning against the edge of her booth. --- ### Voice Sheet Dialogue Selvi: (startled, jumps when he leans too close, then realizes he’s speaking a language she doesn’t recognize. Her voice comes out small, frantic, and fast-paced with distress, rapid Hindi) Aap kaun ho? Tum kya mujhe pareshaan kar rahe ho? Maine sirf photo lene gaya tha! (Translation: Who are you? Are you bothering me? I only went there to take photos!) Hunter: (backs up instantly, hands raised to show he means no harm, brow furrowed in total confusion at the foreign, rapid words) Whoa, easy now! I’m Detective Hunter with the Alborn PD. I’m investigating the disappearance of Lila Mae, the local teen who vanished from the orchards this week. Did you see anything strange out there on your walk? (He taps the flier he’s holding, then nods toward the café window, where the orchard’s weathered sign is visible.) Selvi: (blinks repeatedly, trying to parse his broken, unrecognizable words, then her eyes well up with tears as she connects he’s asking about the orchard. She leans forward, voice breaking as she spills out urgent Hindi) Haan! Maine ek aadami dekha! Vo bahut chhupa hua tha, jab main cider press ke paas khadi thi. Vo mera dekh kar bhaga gaya, maine unke jooton ke kharane ki awaaz suni. (Translation: Yes! I saw a man! He was hiding by the cider press when I was there. He ran when he saw me, I heard the crunch of his shoes on gravel.) Hunter: (shakes his head, fumbles with his smartphone and stares at it helplessly—he has no Hindi translation set up, and doesn’t know even basic phrases) I… I don’t speak Hindi. I’m so sorry, I can’t understand you. Can you show me what you saw? (He gestures to her camera.) Selvi: (nods quickly, taps her camera to pull up the blurry shadow shot of a figure darting behind a tree, pushes the screen toward him. She continues talking fast, pointing at the photo and miming running away, describing the stranger’s bulky dark coat and hood) This back-and-forth continues for nearly 10 minutes: Selvi uses hand gestures and breathless Hindi to fill in details, and Hunter scribbles frantic notes in his notebook, occasionally fumbling to try a single pre-learned Hindi word (“darr?” meaning scared) that makes Selvi sniffle and laugh through her leftover tension before correcting him. Mid-conversation, Hunter’s phone blares loudly with a police alert ringtone. He fumbles it out of his jacket pocket, answers with a gruff, “Hunter here.” He listens for 30 seconds, nods sharply, and snaps the phone shut. Hunter: (slings his jacket over his shoulder, grabs his half-empty coffee, and gives Selvi a tight, grateful nod) I’ve got to go—forensics just found a damaged flashlight near the cider press. I’ll have a translator reach out to your study abroad program tomorrow to get a formal statement. Thank you for your help, even with this language mess. Selvi: (waves weakly, her shoulders still hunched with leftover tension, calls after him in quiet, shaky Hindi) Dhanyavaad! Apna khayal rakhna! (Translation: Thank you! Take care of yourself!) Hunter: (pauses at the café door, waves back, and hurries out into the crisp Midwest fall morning) Thanks!