Aarav sat alone in the corner of his dimly lit room, the weight of silence crushing him. The walls around him were cracked and bare, plaster flaking like the dreams he had abandoned long ago. A single bulb flickered overhead, casting long, jagged shadows across the peeling wallpaper. The air smelled faintly of mildew, a reminder of the leaky roof he'd never been able to fix.

He pulled his knees closer to his chest, his hands trembling as they rested on the worn fabric of his shirt. Everything he'd earned had been spent on his mother—her hospital bills, the never-ending debt—and now even she was gone. He stared at the empty tin box on the floor, once used to hold what little savings he had. Empty, like his hopes.

His phone buzzed faintly, the screen lighting up in the darkness. Several missed calls from his uncle glared back at him. Aarav turned the phone face down, the light too much to bear.

"I've lost everything," he whispered to the shadows. His voice cracked, but there was no one to hear. "I can't even think about facing my father if he's still alive. I don't deserve to." He let his head drop against the cold wall, tears stinging his eyes. "I just… want it all to end."

The room fell silent again, save for the faint ticking of a rusted clock on the wall. Then, a voice spoke. "How long do you plan to sit here, drowning in darkness?"

Aarav froze. The voice was calm, mechanical, but undeniably real. It echoed in his mind rather than his ears. His breath quickened as he scanned the room, but nothing had changed.

"Who's there?" he whispered, his throat dry. "What kind of sick joke is this?"

"I am not here to laugh at you, nor to joke. I am Model No. A-H4T, created to be the heart of a planet."

The words made no sense, but Aarav was too numb to care. He leaned his head back and closed his eyes. "So… you've come to take my meaningless life, huh? Go ahead. I have nothing left to lose."

The voice paused before responding. "Your heart is weak. That much is clear. But I have no interest in taking it. I seek to understand it."

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Aarav frowned, opening his eyes. "Understand? What do you mean?"

"Heart," the voice said, with an almost curious inflection. "It is what my creator told me to become—a planet's heart. When I fulfilled that purpose, the planet was destroyed. I do not understand this… heart. Your species and my creator's species are similar. I want to know if I can become this world's heart."

Aarav let out a hollow laugh, bitter and raw. "You want to become a heart? Look at me! I have a heart, and it's worthless. It's broken. What good has it done me?"

The voice replied without hesitation. "If your heart is broken, it must still exist. Data suggests broken objects can be repaired. Have I not replaced your heart already?"

Aarav's breath caught in his throat. "Replaced… my heart?"

"Yes," the voice said. "In the junkyard, when you were unconscious, I integrated with your system. Without me, you would not have survived."

Aarav's eyes widened. Memories of collapsing in the junkyard came rushing back, his body shutting down after days of pushing himself too far. He shook his head. "So what? If you saved me, it was a mistake. I didn't ask for your help."

"Your objective contradicts your behavior," the machine said, almost teasingly. "You spoke of finding your father, yet here you are, sitting in despair. Is that not still a goal?"

Aarav clenched his fists. "It's been three years! I've found nothing! What can you do that I haven't already tried?"

"I possess the knowledge of advanced civilizations," the machine said matter-of-factly. "If your father is anywhere, I can help you find him."

Aarav shook his head. "Stop it. Just… stop. Don't give me false hope. I don't think I can take it."

The voice softened. "If I leave, you will die. I have become your heart. And a heart does not leave."

For the first time in days, Aarav's lips twitched into a faint smile. The machine's persistent, almost childlike curiosity was strangely comforting, like a voice pulling him back from the edge.

"Well," he muttered, "you're definitely annoying enough to be a heart."

"Annoying?" the machine echoed, almost indignant. "Your species is too easily irritated. But if talking annoys you, I will stop."

Aarav snorted. "You're not stopping, are you?"

"No."

For a moment, the room felt less suffocating. Aarav glanced at his phone, still buzzing faintly with another call from his uncle. He hesitated, then picked it up. "I should call him back," he said softly.

But as he unlocked the screen, a message flashed across it. Aarav's heart sank.

"Aarav, I found something… about your father. Call me back immediately."

He stared at the screen, his hand trembling. The words seemed to pulse with urgency, but he couldn't bring himself to press the call button.

"Your heart rate has increased," the machine observed. "Is this what humans call hope?"

Aarav swallowed hard, his mind racing. He looked around the room one last time, then back at the message.

"I don't know," he whispered, "but I guess we're about to find out."