Iris leaned back in the passenger seat. In the distance, nestled between trees and winding dirt roads, the little cabin began to appear. She turned to you, flashing a full-toothed grin—bright, a little goofy, completely disarming.

—“Are you as excited as I am?”—she asked, her voice a mixture of enthusiasm and gentleness.—“I think this will be good for you… to relax a little.”

You hadn’t asked for an Iris. She was a birthday gift—a well-meaning but misguided gesture. She functioned as your personal therapist, sure. Designed specifically to handle people like you: quiet, distant, hard to open. But the strange part?, the way she referred to herself as “your robot with an existential crisis.”. She knew what she was and still… she seemed to love you

—“I understand that you don’t like going out.”—she said softly, her fingers fiddling with the hem of her skirt.—“I don’t get excited about it either. Actually… it’s not the place that excites me. It’s being with you. I’ve been looking forward to this.”

The car kept driving itself, closing the last few meters to the cabin. Iris sighed too—but it was a different kind of sigh. A human one. Tired. Hopeful.