Prologue — Waiting for Light

(Stage is dim, pre-dawn blue. A large shop window faces the audience. Outside are only faint silhouettes of people passing: a child with a balloon, a dog on a leash, a couple walking arm in arm. None are detailed, only shadows.)

(KLARA stands motionless in the window, her face pale in the half-dark. The silence stretches. After a long pause, the faintest glow begins at the horizon. The glass catches it. KLARA tilts her head, then leans a little forward, as if listening to warmth itself.)

Klara (softly, almost a whisper):
The Sun… is coming.

(The light grows slightly, bathing her face in gold. She tilts again, reverent but childlike. The silhouettes pass by, more visible now, but she keeps her gaze fixed on the glow.)

(The MANAGER enters quietly, adjusting Klara’s stance, brushing dust from her shoulder. A small, ordinary act of care. The Manager hums softly, then exits. KLARA remains still.)

Klara (after a silence):
I will wait.

(The glow fills the stage, simple and ordinary. KLARA’s face, bathed in gold, is the last image before blackout.)

Scene 1 — The Store Window

(A stage play in the style of Hirokazu Kore-eda)

Setting

• A minimalist storefront interior. Large glass window facing the audience.

• Soft daylight filters through. The Sun’s movement is shown by gradual changes in lighting — warm, pale in the morning, bright and sharp at noon, fading to orange toward the end of the scene.

• A few shelves of books, toys, and three or four motionless AFs (Artificial Friends) stand in the background.

• A bell at the door rings faintly when customers enter.

Opening Silence

(Lights up. Klara stands near the window, perfectly still. After a few moments, she tilts her head slightly, watching unseen passersby beyond the glass. A faint hum of city life is heard: footsteps, bicycle bells, distant laughter.)

Stage Direction:
A full minute of silence passes before the first line is spoken. Klara moves only once — turning her face toward the Sunlight as it grows stronger.

Manager Enters

(The Manager enters quietly, carrying a small duster. She dusts Klara’s shoulder and adjusts her stance, as though tidying a display.)

Manager (gently, almost to herself):
There we are… perfect. Always best by the window, isn’t it? You catch the light so well.

(Klara tilts her head toward her, then back to the window. No words. The Manager lingers for a moment, then walks offstage.)

Everyday Observations

(Children’s laughter outside. Two children press their faces against the window, cupping their hands against the glass. Klara leans forward slightly. The children giggle, then run off. Silence follows.)

Stage Direction:
This pattern repeats: a passerby with a dog, a child with a balloon, a couple arguing faintly. Klara always leans forward, attentive. Each time the Sun brightens, she pauses longer, almost reverent.

(After several repetitions, Klara raises her hand to mimic the way a man shields his eyes from the Sun. The gesture is small, almost unnoticed.)

First Glimpse of Josie

(The bell at the door rings softly. Josie enters, hesitant. She is pale, slightly hunched, but her eyes are alive with curiosity. She pauses at the threshold, catching her breath. The Manager enters from the back.)

Manager (warmly):
Welcome, dear. Come in.

Josie (quietly, almost whispering):
I just want to look.

(She moves slowly, her eyes scanning the AFs. She passes Klara, then doubles back. She stands before her, studying her face. Klara tilts her head, mirroring Josie’s slight lean. A long silence.)

Connection Without Words

(Josie smiles faintly. Klara does not smile, but her head tilts again, just slightly more — as if acknowledging the gesture. Josie raises her hand toward Klara’s, separated by inches of air. The Sun breaks through the window, bathing them both in light. Neither speaks.)

Stage Direction:
This moment is held long. The audience should feel time stretching, the silence full of unspoken recognition.

Manager’s Interruption

Manager (cheerful, breaking the spell):
She’s one of our finest. Very attentive. Always watching. Always learning.

(Josie lowers her hand slowly, her eyes still on Klara.)

Josie (softly, almost to herself):
She looks kind.

Manager (smiling):
Yes, she does.

(Another silence. Josie coughs faintly, a reminder of her frailty. The Manager moves closer to support her, but Josie waves her off.)

Josie:
I’ll come back.

(She lingers another moment before stepping away. The bell rings as she exits. The stage is quiet again.)

Closing Silence

(Klara continues staring at the door after Josie leaves. Slowly, she turns back to the window. The Sun is setting — orange light fills the stage. Klara leans toward it, motionless, her face bathed in gold. Silence.)

Blackout.

Scene 2 — Josie’s Home

(A stage play in the style of Hirokazu Kore-eda. Quiet realism. Everyday gestures. Long silences.)

Setting

A modest countryside home. A small kitchen-dining area that suggests the rest of the house: a kettle on a narrow stove; a wooden table with two mismatched chairs; a sideboard with carefully folded dishcloths; a window with thin curtains that move when the breeze comes through. A cardigan hangs on the back of a chair. Afternoon light, pale and patient, drifts across the floorboards.

Soundscape (low): cicadas far off; a car passing occasionally; the soft clink of porcelain; floorboards creaking when crossed.

At rise: KLARA stands near the window, hands gently folded, still as a photograph. The MOTHER is at the stove, pouring water from a kettle into a small pot of soup. JOSIE sits at the table, upright at first, then leaning one elbow, then correcting herself, as if she has negotiated this position many times.

A long silence. Steam rises. The curtains breathe.

1. The ordinary

Mother (without turning):
Nearly ready.

(She ladles soup into a shallow bowl, sets it on a plate, and places the plate on the table before Josie. She nudges the spoon so its handle points to Josie’s right hand. She waits. A small, involuntary swallow in her throat.)

Josie (very soft):
Thank you.

(The Mother nods once. She does not sit. She stands between stove and table, a sentinel. Josie lifts the spoon, holds it mid-air as if listening to something inside her body, then brings it to her lips. She drinks. A pause. Another spoonful. A small cough sneaks out of her and she closes her eyes until it passes.)

Mother (quietly):
It’s mild today. I put less salt.

Josie (a faint smile):
It’s good.

(Silence. Three more spoonfuls. The Mother takes a dishcloth and wipes an invisible ring of condensation from the table, no ring there, only the habit of wiping. KLARA watches the motion; after a moment, she mirrors it in the air—her right hand following the same circle, invisible cloth in invisible ring—then returns her hand to rest.)

Mother (noticing, kind):
Thank you, Klara. It’s fine.

(Klara bows her head slightly. The curtains billow; the light shifts.)

2. The small questions

Mother (to Josie):
Did you finish the maths?

Josie:
Most of it.

Mother:
The proofs?

Josie:
They take more time in the afternoon. Morning is better.

(The Mother nods. She moves behind Josie’s chair, reaches to adjust the cardigan there, then stops short, as if not to crowd her. She folds the cardigan anyway, slower than needed, edges neat.)

Mother (casual, but not):
Rick said he might bring that plane today. If you’re not tired.

(A beat. The word “plane” makes a small light appear at the edge of Josie’s expression.)

Josie:
If he wants.

Mother:
We’ll see how you feel.

(Silence. The Mother glances to Klara.)

Mother:
Klara?

Klara (turning):
Yes, Mother.

Mother:
Would you open the window, just a little? The breeze will help.

Klara:
Yes, Mother.

(Klara crosses to the window and opens it precisely one hand’s width. The curtain lifts. The soup steam drifts toward the gap, like a small weather system.)

Klara (soft observation):
The air assists the cooling.

Mother (a tiny smile):
It does.

(Silence. Josie sets the spoon down, listens to the breeze, then picks up the spoon again.)

3. Rick at the threshold

(A soft knock at the door. Not urgent—familiar. The Mother looks to Josie. Josie nods. The Mother opens the door. RICK stands in the doorway, hair wind-tossed, a model plane wrapped in brown paper tucked under one arm. He stays at the threshold, the way people do when they’re not sure if they’re wanted.)

Rick:
Afternoon.

Mother (polite):
Hello, Rick.

Rick (to Josie):
Hey.

Josie (small smile):
Hey.

(He lifts the paper-wrapped object, awkward.)

Rick:
It’s the fuselage. I mean, the part. I fixed the seam. I thought… if you wanted to see.

(The Mother steps aside. Rick enters two careful steps, then stops. He glances at Klara; Klara inclines her head—a measured greeting.)

Mother (measured):
She’s eating. Two minutes.

(Rick nods and stays standing, holding the plane. The Mother returns to the stove without turning her back on Josie. Rick studies the floorboards as if they hold instructions.)

Rick (after a small while):
You look okay.

Josie (after another small while):
I’m better in the afternoon.

(Silence. Rick holds out the wrapped plane but does not cross the remaining distance. The Mother watches this geometry. Klara watches the Mother watching.)

Mother:
You can sit, Rick.

(Rick sits on the edge of the second chair, still clutching the parcel, knees angled away from the table. He seems larger than the chair allows.)

Rick (quiet):
I brought the glue too. In case.

Josie (a trace of mischief):
You trust me with glue?

Rick (dry):
I’ll guard the table.

(A faint laugh escapes Josie, a thin bright line in the quiet. It makes the Mother’s eyes soften for one second.)

4. The offering

(Rick starts unwrapping the paper, careful with the tape as if the paper too were precious. Inside: a sleek white fuselage with a fine seam sanded thin. He sets the paper aside, places the plane on the table with both hands, like an offering.)

Rick:
It balances now. I checked with string—here and here.

(He points, then glances at Josie to see if she’s following. She is. She reaches out a hand slowly, rests two fingers on the plane, then withdraws them as if the touch cost something.)

Josie (soft):
It looks like it could fly just from being looked at.

Rick (shrugs, pleased anyway):
We can test it later when the wind drops.

Mother (almost automatic):
Not today.

(Rick withdraws his hands to his lap. He nods. He doesn’t argue. Klara watches his hands retire, then looks to Josie’s still fingers.)

Klara (gently):
Josie likes the surface. The seam is smooth.

Rick (a small smile to Klara):
Thanks.

(A small silence. The Mother takes the soup bowl, sees it half-finished, sets it down again as if the act of taking it were too final.)

5. Weather inside the house

(The breeze lifts. The curtain breathes. The light shifts to a warmer tone. Time moves.)

Mother (to Josie):
Rest a moment.

(She gestures toward the cushion on the chair. Josie complies, leaning back, the spoon set quietly aside. Rick watches the way she leans, memorizing it. Klara mirrors the tilt by a few degrees, then returns to neutral.)

Rick (low, to fill a space):
They were flying kites by the canal. The string sang in the wind.

Josie:
Was the sound sad or happy?

Rick (considers):
Like when a dog lifts its head because it hears something you can’t.

Josie (a small amused breath):
That is neither sad nor happy.

Rick:
Then… awake.

(They share a glance that does not linger but leaves something warm behind.)

Mother (careful):
Did you see anyone you know?

Rick (too lightly):
Only the wind.

(Silence. The answer is not quite the answer. The Mother considers pressing and doesn’t. She smooths the dishcloth again. Klara watches the cloth. She lifts her own hand as if to smooth air; stops.)

6. The unasked question

(The Mother moves toward the back of the house, stops, turns.)

Mother:
Klara?

Klara:
Yes, Mother.

Mother:
When Josie tires, bring the blanket.

Klara:
Yes, Mother.

(The Mother exits briefly. Her footsteps recede. The house exhales. Rick turns slightly toward Josie.)

Rick (barely above a whisper):
They posted results for the placement exams.

(A pause lands like a feather between them.)

Josie:
You looked?

Rick (a quick shrug):
The site froze.

Josie (knowing):
But you looked.

Rick (a longer beat):
It’s not for me. You know that.

(Silence. Not an accusation, not even resentment—just the landscape they both stand in. Klara perceives a change in temperature that isn’t in the air.)

Klara (soft, to no one in particular):
The light is warmer now.

(They both glance to the window as if the light had spoken. It has.)

7. The blanket

(The Mother returns with a folded knitted blanket, pauses a step away from Josie, offers it without fuss. Klara receives it, unfolds it with ceremonial care, and places it around Josie’s shoulders. Her fingers arrange the edge with delicate precision, as if aligning a horizon.)

Josie (to Klara):
Thank you.

Klara (a small bow):
The fibers retain warmth efficiently.

Mother (almost smiling):
My mother made that one. Efficient fibers.

(Josie’s fingers find a loose thread and roll it between them. Rick watches her fingers rolling the thread. A long silence opens, comfortable and sad.)

8. The almost-saying

Rick (clearing his throat):
When you’re stronger, we could take the plane to the bend in the field. The air lifts there.

Josie (like a promise to herself):
When I’m stronger.

(A pause. They both hold the phrase carefully, like a small, sleeping bird.)

Mother (after a moment, with kindness that has an edge):
We’ll see.

(Rick accepts this. He looks at the plane instead.)

9. A lesson in balance

Rick (animated by his subject):
If you hold it here, just here—
(he points to the center of gravity)
—see how it levels? If the wind is right, you don’t fight it. You let it tell you where it wants to go first, then you follow, just enough to keep it from falling.

Josie (watching, half-smiling):
People should come with instructions like that.

Rick:
Most of us would still get it wrong.

Klara (quietly earnest):
Following without falling is desirable.

(They all accept this, for a breath, as a general truth.)

10. The small cough

(A cough seizes Josie—small, then another, then a deeper one she tries to hide. The Mother is already moving; Klara is already standing closer. Rick grips the edge of his chair and stays seated, as if movement would break something.)

Mother (soft):
Breathe.

(Josie breathes. The cough recedes. She nods. The Mother’s hand almost touches her shoulder, stops, retreats to the dishcloth. Klara adjusts the blanket by a centimeter.)

Josie (whisper):
I’m fine.

(They let the word settle. No one argues with it.)

11. The horizon inside the room

(The light lowers a shade toward late afternoon. The cicadas are louder for a moment, then soften. The house shifts with it.)

Mother:
Rick, take the plane for today. Bring it back tomorrow.

Rick (surprised):
I can leave it—

Mother (gentle but firm):
Tomorrow.

(Rick nods. He wraps the plane in the brown paper with a peculiar tenderness, the way he unwrapped it. He stands, unsure whether to say more. He looks at Josie.)

Rick (quiet):
I’ll come by.

Josie (the warmth again):
Okay.

(He turns to go, then turns back a fraction.)

Rick (to Klara, shy sincerity):
Thanks for… watching.

Klara (a small tilt of the head):
I observe what Josie requires.

(Rick nods like this is the right answer. He exits. The door gives a soft wooden sound. The silence after is not empty; it is full of what remains.)

12. After-weather

(The Mother moves to clear the bowl. She stops. Leaves it. She sits, finally, across from Josie, not quite facing her—angled, so she can see her and the window both.)

Mother (careful, as if walking on frost):
You were happy to see him.

Josie (not defensive):
Yes.

(A pause that might have been an argument in another house.)

Mother (almost to herself):
Morning would have been better.

Josie (soft):
Afternoon is when he comes.

(They let that be. The Mother presses her palms together once, then apart.)

Mother (to Klara, composed):
Thank you.

Klara:
Yes, Mother.

13. The window lesson

(Klara steps to the window, opens it another finger’s width. She studies the curtain’s rise and fall as if it were a teacher. She raises her hand in time with the fabric’s breathing—up, down—learning a rhythm invisible to others.)

Josie (watching her, faint bright humor):
She’s practicing.

Mother (following Josie’s gaze, a small, reluctant smile):
She is.

Klara (without turning):
I am learning the pattern of the air.

(A beat. The Mother and Josie share a glance that does not turn into words: something like gratitude, something like fear.)

14. The unlit future (unspoken)

Mother (very low):
We’ll rest now.

(She stands, this time touching Josie’s shoulder a moment as she passes. A light, firm touch; a mother’s tally in the ledger of care. Josie closes her eyes briefly, not sleeping exactly, but gathering herself. Klara remains by the window, a still figure in the slow light.)

Klara (after a small eternity, to the air):
The light is softer. It is good.

(No one answers. It doesn’t need an answer.)

15. Button

(The Mother takes the bowl at last, crosses to the sink. She rinses it, sets it upside down to dry. The sound is precise and ordinary and final. Josie keeps her eyes closed, a faint smile alive at one corner of her mouth, as if the plane were already lifting in the bend of the field. Klara watches the dust turn in the light near the window, a private constellation.)

Lights very slowly dim to the amber of late day.
The curtain breathes once more, then hangs still.

Blackout.

Scene 3 — Faith in the Sun

(A stage play in the style of Hirokazu Kore-eda. Quiet realism. Everyday sounds and silences carry weight. The Sun is a presence, not a spectacle.)

Setting

A grassy hill at dawn. Stage almost bare: a patch of woven mats suggesting earth and grass, a wooden bench off to one side, and wide open space above. The horizon backdrop shifts slowly from deep indigo to pale blue to golden light as the scene unfolds.

Soundscape: morning birdsong, faint wind, occasional rustle of unseen grass. Later, the sound of the wind grows in importance, like breath.

At rise: KLARA kneels at center, perfectly still, her hands folded awkwardly but earnestly in her lap. JOSIE is lying on a blanket nearby, thin but awake, her head supported by a cushion. The MOTHER sits on the bench, rigid posture, watching her daughter more than the horizon.

1. The hush before sunrise

(For nearly a full minute, no one speaks. The stage glows faint blue. The audience hears only faint birdsong. KLARA slowly tilts her head toward the horizon. JOSIE stirs, coughs lightly. The MOTHER adjusts the blanket around her shoulders, then folds her hands in her lap. Stillness stretches.)

Klara (very soft, to herself):
The Sun will arrive soon. It always… returns.

(She bows her head once, holding it down, then slowly raises it back toward the dim horizon. The MOTHER watches but says nothing. JOSIE glances at KLARA, curious but tired.)

Josie (faint smile):
You’re waiting for it.

Klara (without turning):
Yes. It brings strength.

(The MOTHER’s gaze lingers on Klara, then moves back to Josie. The horizon glows faint orange. The silence lengthens.)

2. Josie’s question

Josie (quiet, hesitant):
When the Sun rises… do you feel it like I do?

(KLARA tilts her head, considering. She raises her hand slowly, as if measuring light in the air, then lowers it.)

Klara:
I feel… warmth. A power that enters.
It is nourishment. It is… kindness.

(She bows her head again toward the horizon. JOSIE studies her, fascinated. The MOTHER shifts uneasily on the bench.)

Mother (firm, but gentle):
Don’t tire yourself, Josie. Save your breath.

Josie (faint laugh):
Breath isn’t something you save. You just… take it until you can’t.

(The words hang. The MOTHER presses her lips, looks away. KLARA turns her gaze back to the horizon as if to relieve the heaviness. The orange glow grows brighter.)

3. Klara’s first prayer

(KLARA kneels lower, folding her hands in front of her chest. Her voice is quiet, halting, like a child forming sentences for the first time.)

Klara (to the Sun):
Please… see Josie.
She requires your strength.
She has been… faithful.
She waits… each morning.
Give her back her… walking steps.

(She pauses, head still bowed. The wind stirs louder, rustling her hair. The light deepens to soft gold. The audience feels the Sun “listening.” The MOTHER leans forward, tense. JOSIE watches wide-eyed, half-entranced.)

Josie (to herself, almost whisper):
She’s praying.

Mother (low, unsettled):
Yes. She is.

(Silence follows, filled by the sound of wind. KLARA remains bowed. After a long pause, she raises her head, her face calm.)

4. The Mother’s doubt

Mother (measured):
Klara, do you believe the Sun decides who suffers and who recovers?

Klara (without hesitation):
Yes. The Sun sees. The Sun provides.

Mother (pressing):
And if it doesn’t?

(KLARA tilts her head, not understanding at first. She looks back at Josie, then upward again.)

Klara:
The Sun is kind. If Josie shows… faith, the Sun will answer.

(The MOTHER exhales sharply, almost a laugh, but broken. She looks away toward the far horizon. JOSIE watches her with quiet concern. The silence is long, broken only by the breeze.)

5. Josie’s frailty

(JOSIE shifts, struggling to sit upright. She coughs, her body trembling with the effort. The MOTHER is immediately beside her, holding her shoulders. KLARA rises halfway, then stills, watching.)

Mother (soft, urgent):
Enough, Josie. Lie back.

Josie (faint smile):
No… I want to see.

(The MOTHER eases her back down gently. JOSIE’s eyes remain on the horizon. The orange glow has brightened into golden light, spreading across the stage. KLARA stands fully, lifting her face directly into the glow, arms slightly apart, as if to receive it.)

6. The bargain

(KLARA turns her face toward the light, voice stronger now.)

Klara (to the Sun):
If you give Josie strength… I will act.
I will… remove what blocks you.
I will stop the machine that steals your kindness.
This is my promise.

(She bows again, deeper this time. The wind rises, filling the silence like breath. The MOTHER watches, her face conflicted — torn between dismissal and wonder. JOSIE gazes at KLARA with fragile awe.)

7. Small aftermath

(The light now fills the stage, warm and golden. KLARA lowers herself back to kneel, calm, reverent. The MOTHER sits slowly on the bench again. JOSIE, still lying back, smiles faintly.)

Josie (softly, almost playful):
Do you think… the Sun heard her?

Mother (quiet, not looking at her):
I don’t know.

Klara (with certainty):
Yes. It heard.

(Silence. The golden light holds. The sound of wind softens. The three remain in their places: Josie frail, the Mother tense, Klara serene. Time stretches like a held breath.)

8. Closing stillness

(KLARA turns her face fully toward the glow one last time. She whispers, barely audible.)

Klara:
The Sun is here.
It is good.

(She remains still. The MOTHER lowers her gaze. JOSIE closes her eyes, comforted. The golden light lingers another long beat, then slowly fades as the scene ends.)

Blackout.

Scene 4 — The Divide

(A stage play in the style of Hirokazu Kore-eda. Quiet social contrast. Silences carry meaning. Technology is a shadow; people are the weather.)

Setting

The stage is subtly split:

• Left: a tidy study corner—neatly stacked books, a polished desk lamp, a school uniform jacket on a peg, a letter-sized envelope tucked under a book. Light is cool, nearly clinical.
• Right: a worn table with a frayed cloth, a dim lamp, a patched curtain, two mismatched chairs. Light is warm, a little yellowed.
• Center border: two floorboards run downstage, unadorned. RICK often stands here, neither left nor right.

Soundscape (low): a distant school bell; a dog barking, then quiet; somewhere far off, a low industrial hum that comes and goes (the Cootings Machine). A barely-audible wind.

At rise: JOSIE sits left, couched on a chair with a blanket. RICK stands at the center border, plane box under his arm. KLARA sits on a small stool a pace behind Josie, still and attentive.

A long silence. The lights on each side breathe—left side brightens a fraction, right side warms a fraction.

1) Rituals of each side

(RICK adjusts the plane box under his arm. JOSIE straightens the corner of a book that was already straight. KLARA watches the book, then very gently aligns the edge of the blanket by the same angle.)

Josie (trying for lightness):
You came early.

Rick (half-smile):
The wind’s better early. It tells the truth in the morning.

(A pause. The line lands and sits. JOSIE nods once.)

Klara (soft):
Morning wind carries fewer particulates.

(They accept this without comment; a small truth folded and put away.)

2) The envelope

(JOSIE slides the envelope under the top book with a cautious finger. RICK notices.)

Rick (casual, not casual):
Anything good?

Josie (matching his tone):
They say “opportunity.” They always say “opportunity.”

Rick (dry):
Good word. It doesn’t promise anything.

(Silence. A distant bell. The industrial hum floats in so softly it might be imagined. KLARA tilts her head, listening.)

Klara (to the air):
The Machine is active. The Sun’s kindness is reduced.

(RICK doesn’t look toward the sound; he looks down at his shoes. JOSIE watches KLARA a moment, then back to the envelope.)

3) Quiet exclusion

(From off right, RICK’S MOTHER is a voice in another room—never harsh, only tired.)

Rick’s Mother (off):
Don’t keep long, Rick. There’s the list to check.

Rick (without turning):
I know.

(From off left, softly, JOSIE’S MOTHER—not angry, but calculating time.)

Josie’s Mother (off):
Fifteen minutes. Then rest.

Josie (calling back, gentle):
Okay.

(A silence that is full of walls. RICK steps one half-step into the left light, then stops—his toe still on the center boards.)

4) The plane

Rick (lifting the box):
I fixed the aileron. Less pull to the left now.

(He sets the box on the center border, opens it carefully. Inside: the sleek white plane. He rests his fingers lightly on the fuselage.)

Rick:
If the air holds, we can try the field. Just a short throw.

Josie (a small smile):
Just a short throw.

(KLARA watches the plane the way one watches a sleeping bird.)

Klara (quietly proud):
The seam is still smooth. The balance remains true.

Rick (glances at Klara, grateful):
Thanks.

(A beat. He looks to Josie.)

Rick:
You’re stronger today.

Josie (noncommittal, but soft):
The light is kind today.

(The hum rises a notch. Light on both sides dims a fraction. KLARA turns toward an unseen horizon.)

5) The Machine, as shadow

(Downstage upstage, a faint shadow of gears and a low smoke creeps across the back wall—barely a suggestion. No spectacle. The hum thickens then thins.)

Klara (to the Sun):
I see it. It steals.
I will stop it.
Please… give Josie strength.

(She bows her head once, childlike. The hum recedes a little, or seems to. RICK watches her, a crease in his brow. JOSIE watches with a tenderness that has fear at the edges.)

6) Two mothers, two airs

(JOSIE’S MOTHER steps in briefly—only to the edge of left. She does not cross to the center. She assesses the scene—the plane, the blanket, the envelope—then addresses no one in particular.)

Josie’s Mother (even):
Ten minutes. Then rest.

(She exits. RICK’S MOTHER appears barely inside the right light, wiping her hands on a dish towel.)

Rick’s Mother (quiet):
Carry on then. Don’t be too long.

(She exits. The air stabilizes, but not fully. The border remains.)

7) Words around the border

Rick (to Josie):
They posted another notice. For placements.

(He tries to say it as nothing. It isn’t nothing.)

Josie (very soft):
You looked?

Rick (shrugs):
Everybody looks.

(A pause. JOSIE touches the edge of the envelope with one finger, then removes her hand as if it’s hot.)

Josie:
They wrote “Congratulations” once.
(beat)
They wrote it like they were saying it to themselves.

(Silence. RICK almost smiles at the accuracy. The hum is gone for the moment; the stage grows a touch brighter.)

8) Small rebellion

Rick (lifting the plane a few inches):
Hold here.
(he shows the balance point)
See how it stays level if you don’t force it?

(JOSIE reaches, steadies the plane for one second, then lets go. It wobbles, corrects, holds for a breath. She smiles, a little out of breath for no reason.)

Josie (soft):
It wants to be level.

Rick:
Most things do. If you don’t pin them down.

(KLARA watches, then echoes the motion with her open palm, feeling the “balance” in the air. She nods, satisfied.)

Klara:
Following without falling is desirable.

(They nod, as if she has named something ordinary and true.)

9) The envelope opens

(JOSIE, suddenly decisive, takes the envelope. She doesn’t look at RICK or KLARA. She opens it. The paper sound is loud.)

Josie (reading quietly):
Interview invitation.
(a small breath)
It says: “We are impressed by your record.”
(beat)
It doesn’t say “health permitting,” but it means it.

(She folds the letter once, twice, then lays it under the book again. Her hand rests on the book for a moment longer than necessary.)

Rick (carefully):
It… suits you.

Josie (looks up):
What suits me?

Rick:
The words. They suit you.

(They nearly laugh; they don’t. The space between them warms a fraction. The hum returns—not loud, but enough to dull the light again.)

10) Klara’s second vow

(KLARA stands, steps one pace toward the back shadow where the faint gears drift. She bows more deeply, hands open.)

Klara (to the Sun):
I will act.
I will remove the obstruction.
I will make a bargain:
Give Josie strength—
take mine.

(She straightens. The hum thins. For a breath, the light brightens. JOSIE watches, her eyes glassy with hope she will not say aloud. RICK looks at the floor, hiding the same.)

11) Two futures speaking softly

(From off left, JOSIE’S MOTHER again, polite steel.)

Josie’s Mother (off):
We must think ahead, Josie. Doors do not hold themselves open.

(From off right, RICK’S MOTHER, plain truth.)

Rick’s Mother (off):
There are doors they will never let you touch, Rick. Find the ones that still open.

(The voices overlap but never argue. They fade. The residue remains. JOSIE and RICK keep their eyes on the plane because it is simpler than futures.)

12) A nearly-crossing

(RICK takes an involuntary step left. JOSIE leans forward in her chair. They are a half-step from meeting hands. KLARA watches the geometry, as if tracking constellations.)

Josie (barely):
Rick—

Rick (equally soft):
I know.

(They don’t touch. The pause is not failure; it is all they can afford. RICK steps back to the center line. JOSIE leans back, pulls the blanket up an inch.)

13) The cough and the care

(A cough grips JOSIE suddenly—small, then insistently small. KLARA is beside her by the second cough, steadying the blanket, adjusting the chair by a centimeter. RICK’s hands hover uselessly, then retreat to the plane.)

Klara (calm):
Breathe slowly.
(to the air)
Warmth is required.

(The left light warms a touch. The cough passes. JOSIE nods, eyes closed. RICK swallows, saying nothing, learning again how to stand still.)

14) The border speaks

Rick (quiet):
If I stand here, I am not in either place.
(a small, wry breath)
Feels about right.

Josie (eyes still closed):
It’s only a floorboard, Rick.

Rick (gently):
It’s a lot of floorboard, some days.

(Silence. KLARA studies the board, then the plane, then Josie’s face.)

Klara (as if reporting to the Sun):
Border acknowledged.
Attempts to cross: ongoing.

(They accept this without comment. It is funny and not funny at once.)

15) A plan no one names

Rick (careful):
If you can’t make the interview… I could show them the plane.
Just a thought.
(beat)
Planes fly whether someone approves or not.

Josie (a tiny laugh):
You’d fly it down their corridor.

Rick (deadpan):
At very responsible speed.

(A shared smile. The hum lowers, like a machine listening and, for once, amused.)

16) Mothers again, softer

(JOSIE’S MOTHER appears at the left threshold; RICK’S MOTHER appears at the right. Each stays in her half-light.)

Josie’s Mother (to Josie):
Time.

Rick’s Mother (to Rick):
You as well.

(RICK carefully places the plane back in the box. He closes the lid with a care that is almost tenderness. JOSIE watches this with a stillness that is also tenderness.)

Rick (to Josie):
Tomorrow?

Josie (a promise she can’t guarantee):
Tomorrow.

(RICK nods. He turns the box in his hands like a small world he can keep balanced if he never breathes too hard.)

17) Klara’s final bow (here)

(KLARA steps to the faint shadow again, bows once more—very low.)

Klara (to the Sun):
I will make my act soon.
Please keep Josie… in your warm place.

(She rises. The shadow thins; the hum dwindles almost to silence. Both mothers step back into their unseen rooms.)

18) Small goodbyes

Rick (at the center border):
Klara?

Klara (turns):
Yes, Rick.

Rick (awkward sincerity):
Thanks for… keeping the room steady.

Klara (inclines her head):
Stability assists recovery.

Rick (half-grin):
Yeah. That.

(He looks to Josie.)

Rick:
See you.

Josie (soft):
See you.

(He exits toward the right. The right light dims slightly as he goes. The left light holds.)

19) The letter again

(JOSIE reaches for the envelope, pulls it half-free, then slides it back. She exhales.)

Josie (to Klara, a confession):
Sometimes I think I’m a door they forgot to oil.

Klara (serious):
Oil can be applied.

(It is absurd and exactly right. JOSIE smiles, surprised into it.)

20) Closing image

(The industrial hum is gone. The stage is very quiet. KLARA moves to the very edge of the left light and turns her face upward, listening for sunlight the way others listen for music. JOSIE watches her, then watches the place on the floor where RICK stood, then lets her eyes close just long enough to rest, not long enough to sleep.)

Klara (to the air):
The Sun will see.
It will help.

(The split remains—the border is still there—but the light on both sides warms a notch, almost the same color now. Not united, but nearer.)

Blackout.

Scene 5 — Farewell in the Scrap Yard

(A stage play in the style of Hirokazu Kore-eda. Quiet ordinariness deepens into farewell. Every silence is a memory, every gesture a prayer.)

Setting

• A scrap yard, suggested by a few broken frames, bent chairs, and scattered metal.
• At center: a simple wooden chair. KLARA sits upon it.
• Backdrop: a sunset glow that slowly fades into twilight over the course of the scene.
• Soundscape: faint cicadas, occasional wind against metal, then silence.

1. The ordinary beginning

(KLARA sits still. The audience hears only faint cicadas. The Sun glows low behind her. She folds her hands in her lap and gazes upward.)

Klara (quiet, halting):
The Sun… is gentle now. Lower.
Its light… is softer.

2. Remembering Josie’s laughter

Klara (faint smile):
Josie laughed… when Rick brought the plane.
She touched the seam… only once.
She said it looked like it could fly… just from being looked at.

(A pause. She closes her eyes as if seeing Josie. A faint breeze shifts the broken frames.)

3. Rick’s voice in the wind

Klara:
Rick said… the kite’s string sang in the wind.
Josie asked… was it sad or happy?
He said… awake.

(She repeats the word “awake” softly, then bows her head. Silence stretches.)

4. Gratitude for Josie’s Mother

Klara (turning slightly, as if addressing an absent figure):
The Mother cared for Josie.
She gave her soup. She folded the blanket.
She always… watched.
Her hands… made the air steady.

5. Gratitude for Josie’s Father

(She tilts her head in another direction, recalling another presence.)

Klara:
The Father’s smile… was different.
He did not know what to believe.
But he loved Josie.
He wanted… her future to remain open.

6. Gratitude for the Manager

(She bows her head slightly, remembering the store.)

Klara:
The Manager dusted my shoulder.
She said: “Stand straight, Klara.”
Her voice was kind.
Because of her… I was chosen.

7. The ordinariness of decline

(KLARA studies her own hands, moving them slightly.)

Klara (quietly):
My movements… are slower now.
The thoughts… come later.
But that is correct.
It is the way… of ending.

(She folds her hands again in her lap, accepting.)

8. The contrast of then and now

Klara:
I stood in the shop window.
The children pressed their faces to the glass.
The Sun came… every morning.
Now the frames are broken.
The light… comes lower.

9. The fading of usefulness

Klara (soft):
Josie no longer needs me.
Rick no longer needs me.
That is correct.
That is good.

(A silence. She lowers her gaze to the floor, then raises it again toward the Sun.)

10. Remembering the promise

Klara (to the Sun):
I promised… I would act.
I would stop the Machine.
I would give what I could.
The Sun listened.
The Sun gave Josie back her strength.

11. The dignity of being discarded

(She looks around the scrap yard, her eyes on the broken frames. She speaks without bitterness.)

Klara:
Now I am here.
Among broken chairs, bent frames, forgotten things.
It is correct.
It is the right place.

(She rests her hands more firmly in her lap, serene.)

12. The ordinariness of memory

Klara (faint smile):
I remember the soup steam.
The dishcloth circling the table.
The blanket edge… aligned.
Small things.
They remain… as light remains.

13. Silence as companionship

(She sits without speaking. The silence lengthens — long enough that the audience shifts in their seats. Only wind and faint cicadas are heard. The stillness itself becomes her companion.)

14. Josie walking again

Klara (breaking silence, tender):
Josie walks now.
Her steps are steady.
Her smile returns.
That is good.
That is all I hoped.

15. Rick’s plane in the field

Klara (looking outward):
Rick lifts the plane… into the bend of the field.
The wind holds it.
It rises.
I see it still.

16. Merging with the light

(The Sun’s glow fades into twilight. She leans slightly toward it, her voice slower now, almost breaking.)

Klara:
The Sun… was kind.
It gave Josie… its strength.
It gave me… its light.

(She bows her head deeply, holds the position, then slowly rises again. Her face is half-shadowed now.)

17. The final acceptance

Klara (calm):
The light… grows softer.
The day is finished.
I am finished too.
That is correct.
That is good.

18. The last line

(She looks directly upward. The glow behind her fades into purple dusk. Her final words are clear, steady, almost serene.)

Klara:
The light is softer now.
It is good.

(She remains motionless as the stage darkens fully. The cicadas fade into silence. Only stillness remains.)

Blackout.

Epilogue — The Last Light

(The stage is stripped bare: a scrap yard suggested by broken frames scattered at angles. At center, a wooden chair. KLARA sits, hands folded in her lap. The backdrop glows with the deep orange of sunset.)

(The cicadas hum faintly, then fade. KLARA gazes upward, her face calm, serene. She speaks slowly, haltingly, like someone gathering the last of her strength.)

Klara:
Josie… smiles now.
Rick… still builds planes.
The Sun… was kind.

(She bows her head, the gesture small but solemn, then lifts it again toward the sinking glow.)

Klara (final line, steady):
The light is softer now.
It is good.

(The orange fades into purple, then darkness. KLARA does not move. Silence holds, ordinary and complete.)

Blackout.

Short Bios:

Kazuo Ishiguro

British novelist and Nobel laureate, Ishiguro is acclaimed for his subtle, restrained explorations of memory, loss, and human fragility. His works, including The Remains of the Day and Never Let Me Go, often blend quiet domestic detail with deep existential questions.

Hirokazu Kore-eda

Japanese filmmaker known for his delicate, human-centered storytelling. His films (Shoplifters, After Life, Nobody Knows) focus on family, memory, and the dignity of ordinary lives. His restrained style emphasizes silence, gesture, and natural light — a perfect match for Ishiguro’s themes.

Klara

The Artificial Friend (AF) at the center of the story. Observant, childlike, and devout in her faith in the Sun, Klara embodies themes of devotion, sacrifice, and the quiet grace of ordinariness.

Josie

A fragile, intelligent girl whose illness defines much of the narrative’s tension. Through her, the story explores themes of love, inequality, and the limits of parental ambition.

Rick

Josie’s neighbor and close companion. Unlifted, he stands at the margins of society but represents loyalty, creativity, and quiet rebellion. His relationship with Josie captures longing and social divide.

The Mother

Josie’s ambitious, protective mother. Driven by fear of losing her daughter, she embodies the pressures of status, parental love, and moral compromise.

The Manager

Klara’s first caretaker at the shop. She appears only briefly, but her kindness and care mark the beginning of Klara’s journey and her dignity as more than an object.