g., make it a thriller or a comedy) or from the filename?

To anyone else, it was digital junk. To Elias, the timestamp—was a scar.

The video wasn’t a cinematic masterpiece. It was a montage of grainy clips: a birthday cake with flickering candles, a dog chasing a sprinkler in slow motion, and then—her. Sarah was standing on a balcony, looking out at a city that was dark except for the streetlights. She turned toward the camera, her face half-illuminated, and started to say something.

But in the video, there was no sound. Elias had replaced the audio with a lo-fi beat he’d found online back then—the kind of music people listened to when they couldn’t sleep.