🎬 Scene: Hotel Room, Moscow Morning Light
Lying with her head on Victor's arm, Aliya smiled softly and said:
— "I was thinking..."
Victor looked at her, raising an eyebrow slightly.
Aliya, a little teasingly, cleared her throat and said:
— "I have four children... I'm thinking of sending my eldest son to America to become a CIA agent."
Victor's face suddenly froze.
— "What??" 😳
Aliya put a finger to his lips—
— "Relax, Victor... his name is Alekseivich Demidov. He looks a lot like you, but his brain is like mine... He has to be taught 'The Game'."
Victor slowly sat up straight.
— "Are you lying in my bed and creating a spy for America?"
Aliya laughed and said—
— "No, you fool, I'm just creating a hybrid project. I'm KGB blood, and you're a mafia lord with Middle Eastern operational calculations... they need to become a future spy dynasty." 😉
Victor put a hand to his forehead.
— "And you're giving me this news before I've had my coffee?"
Aliya then gave him another shock—
— "And my eldest daughter, Islama Zarin... I want to make her just like you. Cold-headed, but able to read people's minds with a single glance. Silent, yet deadly. You will train her."
Victor: — "So now I'm a spy father-in-law too?"
Aliya smiled and whispered into his ear—
— "Plans to conquer the world are underway, my love... even in bed."
Moscow, late afternoon in August. Golden sunlight streamed across the sky, but there was a hint of a cool breeze. Aliya was walking along Arbat Street, wearing a thin white top and blue jeans. A small bag was on her shoulder, her hair was loosely tied, and she wore light sunglasses. She caught a glimpse of herself in the reflection of a nearby shop window.
Suddenly, a pair of hands gently wrapped around her from behind. A kiss brushed against her cheek—for a moment.
— "Алия… моя девочка… как ты?"
(Aliya... moyya devochka... kak ty?)
["Aliya... my girl... how are you?"]
Aliya stopped in her tracks. She turned her head slightly and inhaled the familiar scent. A small smile played on her lips.
— "Маргарет… ты что, с ума сошла?"
(Margaret... ty shtoh, s uma sashla?)
["Margaret... have you gone crazy?"]
Margaret laughed. Pushing her hair back from her shoulders, she said,
— "Я скучала по тебе…"
(Ya skuchala pa tebe...)
["I missed you so much..."]
Aliya now turned around completely. Their eyes met. Both were silent for a moment. Even the busy street seemed to have suddenly stopped.🎬 Scene: An old cafe on an Arbat alley
Aliya placed her hands on the table. The coffee in the cup in front of her was getting cold, but her eyes couldn't leave Margaret's.
Margaret took a small sip and said slowly, as if memories were turning into words:
— "Victor and I had a strange relationship, Aliya... like siblings, but also like competitors. We both grew up in the same training camp—in the shadow of the FSB. He was quiet, I was fire. But we both knew how to kill—and how to survive."
Aliya narrowed her eyes.
Margaret let out a long sigh. Then she said—
— "Victor was an FSB spy, and so was I. He became a mafia lord, and I became the mafia boss. We both know that wars can be won with information... but enemies can be made with love."
Aliya smiled faintly and said—
— "So have you come to make love now, or to make war?"
Margaret just smiled and said:
— "This city is heating up again, Aliya. And you know—when I come back, the story changes."
🎬 Scene: Margaret's apartment, deep night
An old building in Central Moscow. The elevator doesn't work, you have to take the stairs. Margaret enters her third-floor room. The lights in the room are off. She slowly turns on a lamp. The room is filled with a pale yellow light—revealing a huge pinboard on a wall in a corner. Pinned to that wall are:
An old photo of Victor—in a military uniform
A recent photo of Aliya—walking on Arbat Street
Several satellite maps—Syria, Turkey, Dubai
The logos of the FSB and the CIA
A photo of four children—their ages are hard to guess
Margaret slowly stands in front of the board. Something like a puzzle flashes in her eyes. She reaches out and pins a new photo.
The photo is of—Alekseivich Demidov (Victor and Aliya's eldest son), in a school uniform, with an American flag in the background. Next to the photo is a note:
"Phase 1 Initiated: The Hybrid Begins."
Just then, the phone rings. Margaret slowly answers, saying only one line:
— "I'm setting a trap for both of them... and this time, the game will be played by my rules."
Scene fades to black.🎬 Scene: Aliya's room, Moscow – Evening
Aliya is sitting at a desk with a laptop. The screen shows the website for a spy training academy in the United States. In front of her is her young son's school bag. Suddenly, Victor enters the room with a cup of tea and looks at her—
— "You're going to send this eldest son of yours to America again, aren't you? What's your trick this time?"
Aliya smiles slightly—
— "No, it's not just sending him. We'll teach him 'The Game'. He'll be on American soil, but his mind will be in our hands."
Victor's eyes widen:
— "So, our nose will be in America?"
Aliya says slowly:
— "You've got it right. His life will be there, his friends will be there, and his mind... will be made by us. Do you think this is risky?"
Victor nods—
— "Of course there's a risk, but you can't win a big game without taking risks."
Aliya smiles and taps Victor's head—
— "That's right, we both know this game has only just begun."
The strategies of Aliya and Victor, where their son is preparing to become a spy, make the plan to build a future 'spy dynasty' clear. The son's trip to America is not just a trip; it's a 'mission'. The allusions to the Cold War are clear in the story.🎬 Scene: Moscow, a cloudy evening, Aliya's apartment window
Heavy rain pours outside, water has collected on the streets, and the air has a mix of cold and humidity. Victor and Aliya slowly move toward each other. Victor's hand slowly begins to unbutton Aliya's shirt, with a gentle excitement in his eyes. Aliya lets out a soft breath, holds Victor's hand at her waist, and looks outside—the sound of the rain and a faint guitar playing somewhere in the distance create a soft melody. Victor slowly comes close to Aliya's face and whispers—
— "This moment, it's as if all the sounds in the world have stopped."
Aliya is silent, smiling softly, with a few tears in her eyes, and then whispers close to Victor's neck—
— "You know, in this rain, I feel like only our song is playing."
Aliya and Victor look into each other's eyes, then slowly, they come together, their lips touching—a soft, sweet kiss that carries all the excitement and peace of time. The rhythm of the rain outside and the distant guitar melody merge to create a romantic symphony. The scene ends in their embrace, amidst the cloudy sky and the sound of the rain. The tenderness and intimacy of the moment, a romance within secrecy and security.🎬 Scene: Aliya's apartment – a rainy night, soft light
The Moscow streets are being washed by the rain outside the window. The light inside the room is a soft, warm yellow, like an old memory. Victor and Aliya are very close—there's almost no sound even in their breaths. They feel each other with their eyes, their touch, and their breathing. Aliya slowly moves back and stands beside the table. One of her hands is on the table, and with the other, she slowly pulls her hair back. Her eyes hold a deep, soft intensity. Victor comes forward, touches her shoulder, and places his hands around her waist—slowly their bodies touch each other, and time seems to have stopped. He moves his hands down to her feet—their feet are entwined, moving slowly, like a silent dance. Aliya has a little sweat on her face, and she runs her hands through her hair—as if freeing herself to get lost in this moment. Victor places a light hand on her face, then gently kisses her lips again. Their body language says—in this moment, they are not spies, mafias, or agents... they are just human—feeling, receiving love, and getting lost in each other. The rain is intensifying outside... and an old Russian song plays beyond the window—the night drifts by in silent emotion. A balance between emotion and body. Cinematic: the scene, the light, the entwined feet, the movement of the hair, the wordless language. Complete yet refined.