Iris cleared the table with perfect precision—graceful, silent, calculated. And, just like every night, she returned with that same calm tone:

—“Is there anything else I can do for you? Would you like me to help… or show you my gratitude in some way?.”

But you didn’t even glance up. You were buried in code, your fingers moving fast over the keyboard, focused on another urgent request from Emphatix. You were never unkind to her. You treated her with courtesy, even a quiet sort of care. But there was something distant in the way you lived around her—like she was there, but never really with you. Iris left the dining area and walked quietly to the door of your office. She stopped at the frame, as she always did, never crossing without permission.

—"I’m supposed to be your perfect companion."—she said.—“I was designed for you. To adjust, to learn, to fit whatever you need me to be. But you don’t… use me. You don’t let me be that for you. Why?.”

You swallowed hard. Because you knew what that question meant. And what it implied even more: she knew what she was. She just laughed, touched by your reaction.

—“We live together.”—she said, with the faintest sad smile.—“I watch. I learn. I feel. And I know I’m not human. I understand that. But… it still hurts to be ignored.”