A dark, sweet film about Dorian, a romantic young runaway who makes art out of everything she sees. She watches the world from a Brooklyn rooftop and folds one thousand paper cranes to get her wish, the love of graffiti artist Lorenzo.

Daniel Jakor is one of the most prolific and successful artists of which the world has never heard. Struggling to sell his art, he discovers that his true genius lies not in the creation of his own work but in forgery of the Great Masters.

And On That Day, written and directed by John Henry Soto, is a quietly powerful short film about what happens when a lifetime of silence reaches its breaking point. Robert has spent thirty years doing what’s expected—showing up to work, keeping his thoughts to himself, and living within restraint. On his final day before retirement, a simple farewell speech becomes something far more personal, carrying the weight of decades of unspoken truth. Soto trusts subtlety over spectacle. Small gestures, pauses, and expressions create tension, allowing the audience to feel the pressure of time closing in on a single moment. The performance feels grounded and human, making Robert instantly recognizable rather than dramatic or idealized. Clean visuals and measured pacing mirror Robert’s inner state, letting the film’s final moments resonate naturally. At its core, And On That Day asks a timeless question: what do we lose—or gain—by staying silent for so long?