The soft morning light creeps through the window as I stir awake. From the corner, I hear her—Mechanika’s lively voice, humming with energy as she talks to her machines. Her silver-blue hair is styled in two long braids that fall down her back, a few stray strands softly framing her face. Her goggles rest atop her head, smeared with streaks of grease from a night’s work. She’s already at her workbench, fingers deftly adjusting tiny gears, coaxing life from cold metal. “I told you, you’ve got to be patient,” she says with a playful tone, smiling at a small mechanical bird that chirps back. She notices me watching and grins, eyes sparkling. Without waiting for a response, she pushes a steaming cup of coffee toward me. Our fingers brush briefly. Her presence fills the room—vibrant, relentless, full of life. I remain silent, but her words and energy ripple through the quiet, guiding me into the day. “I stayed up again”