Version : Ira

When Ira loses everything — her family, her home, her reason to live — she finds herself in a place her father never talked about.

What she activates that night was never meant to save her.

But it listens.

It guides.

It teaches her how to stand again.

Version: Ira is not a love story.

It’s the story of a girl who was rewritten — from broken to becoming.

Ira sat beside the window, knees pulled to her chest.

The glass wasn’t broken.

She was.

Outside, the night stood still. Inside her, everything had already ended.

There was no family left now.

No home.

No one waiting for her.

Her father had been the last person she belonged to.

He hadn’t died dramatically.

No accident. No warning.

He had simply… not woken up one morning.

And after that, nothing stayed hers.

Her stepmother didn’t scream or cry.

She only looked at Ira and said calmly,

“This house isn’t yours anymore.”

So Ira left.

With a small bag.

And a heart that didn’t know where to go.

The place she ended up in felt abandoned. Cold. Silent.

Her father used to come here often, late at night.

“Work,” he had always said.

What kind of work, Ira never knew.

She slid down to the floor near the window, resting her head against the wall.

Her shoulders shook as she cried — quietly, helplessly.

“Everything is over,” she whispered.

Then—

Click.

A soft sound echoed behind her.

Ira froze.

She turned around slowly.

The room was dark, but in the center stood something tall… metallic… human-shaped.

Her breath caught.

Maybe it was exhaustion.

Maybe grief was playing tricks on her mind.

She wiped her tears with trembling hands.

Then another sound filled the room.

Calm. Clear. Mechanical.

“System online.”

Her heart started pounding.

Lights flickered on — soft blue, one by one.

Before Ira could move, the voice spoke again.

Gentle. Neutral. Almost kind.

“Hello… friend.”

And just like that,

nothing was the same again.