EXT. WHITEWASHED ALLEY, LIN'S DOORWAY - EARLY MORNING
Washing hangs across the lane. GRANDMA LIN (80s) wheels an old bicycle out of her door. Both hands on the grips.
Her thumb finds the bell. It rests there. She does not ring it.
The alley runs a long way. She walks the bicycle down the middle of it. She does not get on.
NEIGHBOUR (O.S.)
Still not riding it, Auntie Lin?
Leaf shadows cross her face. Eyes down. The smallest smile. No answer.
The front wheel ticks over the paving stones. Same stones, same pace, every morning.
She walks on toward the light at the end of the alley. The bicycle keeps her company.
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