MATEO: “You don’t have to stay.”

Through the window, she mouths: “Gracias, papá.” (SUBTITLE: Thank you, father.) The bus drives away.

A RADIO plays a bolero: “La fuerza del destino…” (SUBTITLE: Coincidence is just destiny in a mask.) She glances at his missing hand. He notices.

ELENA: “Why did you wait for her?”

MATEO: “A una mujer que nunca llegó.” (SUBTITLE: To a woman who never came.)

She walks away.

A dusty road stretches toward a volcano. ELENA (30s, tired eyes) walks alone, dragging a suitcase with a broken wheel. The sun burns. (SUBTITLE: She left everything. She doesn’t know why.) A BUS passes. She doesn’t wave. A TRUCK backfires. She flinches—then keeps walking.

She turns. For the first time, she cries.

Elena finds Mateo sitting alone.

MATEO: “No. Destiny is the river. You choose how to cross.”

Mateo smiles. Then, alone on the empty road, he whispers:

ELENA: “Do you regret it? Waiting?”

She reaches a cliff. Below, a river glows under moonlight.

ELENA: “You don’t have to wait anymore.”