INT. MOUNTAINTOP CHAPEL — MEDJUGORJE — SUNSET
Golden light streams through stained-glass windows as NELLY and JOE kneel side by side. The sound of distant bells mixes with cicadas. Nelly wears a simple linen shawl. Joe is in a borrowed cassock, worn over his jeans. They gaze at a modest statue of the Virgin Mary as the sky turns lavender.
NELLY (whispering)
If I could… I’d leave everything, Joe. Hollywood. Music. Fame. All of it.
I’d become a nun here. And you… you’d be my priest.
JOE (half-smiling)
They don’t usually let priests and nuns marry, Nelly.
NELLY (earnest, eyes wide)
That’s why the Vatican won’t recognize Medjugorje, don’t you see?
Too many miracles. Too much love.
The priests and nuns here—some of them do marry. Secretly. Sacredly.
Like Christ never wanted us to be alone. Like Eden before the fall.
JOE
You really think Rome fears love?
NELLY
They fear what they can’t control.
But Christendom is dying, Joe. Not from sin.
From emptiness. From not enough children.
JOE (quietly)
From loneliness.
NELLY
Exactly.
I want seven more, Joe.
Not with chemicals or doctors. Not with stress and calendars.
The Hunza way.
Pakistani mountain mothers… they drink glacier water, eat apricots, climb cliffs barefoot at 50, and still have babies.
Because they believe.
JOE
Seven?
NELLY
One for every sorrow of Our Lady.
I want our children to run barefoot through vineyards, praying the rosary, laughing in Croatian.
I want to raise saints, not stars.
JOE (looking at her deeply)
What if we’re excommunicated?
NELLY
Then let Rome keep its gold and crimson.
We’ll take the incense, the silence, and the sunrise.
Let them keep their walls.
We’ll build a chapel with our hands, raise our children in the open air,
and love like heaven is watching.
They sit in silence. The sun dips behind the hills. A breeze stirs the chapel’s candles.
JOE
Maybe Medjugorje is the last outpost of Eden.
NELLY (smiling softly)
Then let’s not miss our chance to go back.
The chapel bells ring again. A calling. A choice. The light fades gently to dusk.
