She nodded. "Good choices are often the ones you can actually carry."
Behind her, a staircase descended into a room filled with old movie posters, dusty scripts, and glass jars—each jar held a single frame of film: a dog chasing a balloon, a pair of hands knitting a red scarf, a boy opening a lunchbox and finding a key. The projector hummed images that were not quite films and not quite dreams: small, ordinary miracles reanimated and looped like breathing.
"What's that?" she asked.
He shrugged. "Because it's small. Because I could do that."
"Why do you keep them?" he asked.
"How do I get back?" he asked.
"Where am I?" Ravi asked, because it was easier than asking how.