GWISIN

Screenplay draft

Title: GWISIN
Credit: Written by
Author: Screenwriter
Draft date: October 2024
Contact: 

FADE IN.

INT. MINJI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is small, modern, barely furnished. A single desk lamp casts a pool of warm amber light on bare wood floors. NEON SIGNS outside the window pulse sickly green and blue through thin curtains, striping the white walls. Cool blue moonlight leaks from a high vent. Bone-white shadows stretch across the low ceiling.

MINJI PARK, 24, Korean, shoulder-length black hair with soft bangs, stands in an oversized cream sweater and black leggings. She holds a cardboard box against her chest. Wide dark eyes take in the empty space. She exhales, breath visible for a moment in the chill.

She sets the box down. The thud echoes off the tight walls.

Minji steps to the window. Green neon flickers across her face. She pulls the curtain wider. Outside, Seoul hums distant and indifferent. She turns back to the room, rubbing her arms.

She opens the box and removes a stack of notebooks. Her fingers trace the spines. She places them on the low desk under the lamp. The warm light catches dust motes in the air.

A floorboard CREAKS in the narrow hallway behind her.

Minji pauses. She glances over her shoulder. Nothing moves. She returns to the box, humming a soft, wordless tune. The hum dies in her throat when the lamp FLICKERS once, then steadies.

MINJI
(soft, breathy)
Just the building settling.

She unfolds a pair of black leggings and carries them to a drawer. The drawer sticks. She tugs harder. It slides open with a scrape. She folds the leggings inside and closes it.

She moves to the bathroom doorway. The mirror above the sink reflects the hallway behind her. Minji runs water, splashes her face. When she straightens, a curtain of long black hair drifts past the bathroom door in the reflection. She spins. The hallway stands empty. Only the cold draft lifts the hem of her sweater.

Minji returns to the main room. She sits on the floor beside the box and pulls out a small framed photo. She sets it on the desk, adjusting it twice. The neon green light pulses across the glass.

She stands again and walks the length of the room. Her footsteps sound too loud on the wood. She stops at the vent. Cold air whispers out. She leans closer, listening.

MINJI
I finally have independence.

From the vent, a faint echo answers, the same word trailing into reverb.

Minji steps back. She wraps her arms around herself. The desk lamp holds steady now. She looks once more at the empty hallway. The thin walls press inward under the green neon spill.

She returns to the box and lifts out another stack of papers. Her movements are careful, deliberate. The apartment settles into near-silence, broken only by the distant hum of neon and the soft drag of fabric as she shifts.

INT. MINJI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is small, modern, barely furnished. A single desk lamp casts a pool of warm amber light across bare wood floors. Outside the thin curtains, sickly green neon from the street signs pulses against the white walls and low ceiling. Cool blue moonlight leaks in from the narrow hallway.

MINJI PARK, 24, stands in an oversized cream sweater and black leggings. She sets a cardboard box down beside the low desk and exhales, her breath visible in the sudden chill. She opens the box and lifts out a stack of notebooks, their covers worn at the corners.

She places them on the desk one by one, aligning the edges with careful fingers. A soft hum escapes her lips, a half-remembered melody that fills the quiet space.

A floorboard CREAKS in the narrow hallway behind her.

Minji pauses, her hand resting on the top notebook. She glances over her shoulder. The hallway remains empty, the single overhead bulb flickering once before settling. She turns back to the desk, sliding a notebook into the drawer beneath it.

She reaches into the box again and pulls out a folded black pair of leggings, shaking them out before placing them beside the notebooks. The hem of her sweater lifts slightly in a cold draft that drifts from the vent near the floor.

MINJI
Just the building settling.

She steps toward the bathroom doorway, rubbing her arms. In the mirror behind her, long black strands drift past the edge of the frame and vanish. When she turns, the hallway is empty again.

Minji returns to the desk and opens the top notebook. She smooths the page with her palm, then reaches for a pen. The lamp flickers once more, its warm circle shrinking briefly before expanding. She keeps humming, softer now, the sound barely rising above the distant neon hum outside the window.

INT. MINJI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The desk lamp pools warm amber across the bare wood floor. Sickly green neon pulses through thin curtains, striping the low white walls. A narrow hallway recedes into charcoal shadow behind her. The air carries a faint metallic chill from the vent near the ceiling.

MINJI PARK stands at the low desk, shoulder-length black hair falling forward as she straightens a stack of notebooks. Her oversized cream sweater hangs loose over black leggings. She exhales, the sound soft in the quiet room.

MINJI
(independent)

She says it again, testing the word against the stillness.

MINJI
I finally have independence.

A floorboard settles with a low creak somewhere down the hallway. The desk lamp flickers once, then steadies. Minji rubs her arms, feeling the hem of her sweater lift in a sudden draft.

From the vent above the desk, a whisper threads out, layered and distant, as if spoken through layers of plaster.

HANA LEE
(whispering, echoing)
Independence...

The word hangs, trailing into reverb that fades into the hum of the neon signs outside. Minji freezes, eyes lifting toward the vent. Nothing moves. Only the faint rustle of fabric, like hanbok silk brushing concrete, drifts from the narrow hallway and disappears.

INT. MINJI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is small, modern, barely furnished. A single desk lamp casts a pool of warm amber light across bare wood floors. Sickly green neon from the signs outside pulses through thin curtains, striping the white walls with faint water stains. Cool blue moonlight leaks in from the narrow hallway.

MINJI PARK, 24, stands in an oversized cream sweater and black leggings, shoulder-length black hair falling over soft bangs. She sets a cardboard box down near the low desk and exhales, her breath visible in the sudden chill. Wide dark eyes scan the tight space.

She opens the box and lifts out a stack of writer’s notebooks, placing them one by one on the desk under the lamp. Her fingers trace the spines. She hums a soft, wordless tune, the sound small against the low ceiling.

A floorboard CREAKS in the narrow hallway behind her. Minji pauses, glances over her shoulder. Nothing moves. She turns back and pulls a pair of black leggings from the box.

She folds the leggings carefully and slides them into the bottom drawer of the desk. The fabric whispers against the wood. The desk lamp FLICKERS once, dimming the amber pool to gray before steadying.

MINJI
Just the building settling.

She straightens, rubs her arms against the draft that lifts the hem of her sweater, and steps toward the bathroom doorway. The neon hum outside grows louder for a moment, then fades.

INT. MINJI'S APARTMENT - NIGHT

The room is small, modern, barely furnished. A single desk lamp casts a pool of warm amber light across bare wood floors. Sickly green neon from the signs outside pulses through thin curtains, striping the white walls. Minji Park stands at the low desk, shoulders hunched in her oversized cream sweater. She sets down a notebook and rubs the back of her neck.

A floorboard creaks somewhere down the narrow hallway. Minji pauses, listening. The sound dies. She exhales and steps toward the bathroom door.

INT. MINJI'S APARTMENT - BATHROOM - NIGHT

The small bathroom is lit only by the spill from the desk lamp. Minji enters and reaches for the sink. In the mirror behin

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