Eru had stopped crying a long time ago.
Tears are for people, he thought. And he wasn’t sure if he qualified anymore.
Ever since the depression took root in him, Eru had lived like a machine — predictable, functional, hollow. He woke up, breathed, moved, responded. Sometimes he laughed. Sometimes he cried. But none of it felt real. It was as if someone else had written the script, and he was just acting it out.
There were days he felt almost human. He’d smile at the sky, or hum a tune from a distant childhood memory.
But there were other days, darker ones, where his thoughts spiraled so violently he had to grip the edge of his desk just to stay in one piece. On those days, he felt like a broken machine — glitching, stuttering, screaming inside with no voice to let it out.
And then she appeared.
The one he called the most beautiful person in the world.
She didn’t save him. No — she just saw him. Not the act, not the robot. Him. The raw, flawed, shaking soul beneath the shell.
For a moment, Eru felt something terrifyingly warm. Something dangerously close to love.
He had a chance.
One chance.
But fear — that old, rusted programming — kicked in. What if he broke her too? What if she left? What if he was never enough?
So he did what machines do best.
He shut down.
She waited. For days, maybe weeks. Then she left. No goodbye. No blame. Just silence.
And now… Eru sits alone, in a room that feels both too big and too small, staring at the memory of someone whose name he can no longer remember.
Yes.
The sickness took something else from him.
His memory.
He knows he loved someone once. He knows he had a reason to fight. But the face is gone, and the name is blurred, like a dream slipping through oil-stained fingers.
He thinks of WALL·E — the little robot who crossed galaxies for the one he loved. Eru smiles faintly.
“I am not WALL·E,” he whispers. “I stayed behind.”
Because this time, the robot forgot who Eve was.
And forgetting, in its own way, is the cruelest ending of all.
SEASON 2…UPCOMING SOON