Weeks later, he joined a rooftop screening hosted by Anaya’s collective. The projector flickered as the crowd settled—students, families, a few elderly couples who still argued about the plot in the lobby. The film played. Laughter rose and fell, then murmured silence as the story landed its final beat. When the credits rolled, people clapped not because the prints had been free but because everyone there had chosen to support a work that mattered to them.