On the opening night of a group exhibition, Nora, a young female artist is hacked by an ominous troll. What follows is a descent into sexual trauma, as she and her friend search for the perpetrator in a night-long odyssey.

With See You In The Dark, Asena wanted to approach sexual violence as something real and ordinary. The film traces what it means to be heard and what it means to exist through spaces structurally incapable of hearing you. It explores how sexual violence becomes entangled with bureaucratic systems that withhold care, and how the actions of perpetrators reflect a wider cultural narrative that sustains harm.

To speak about sexual violence is to give form to what is so often left unsaid, minimised, and normalised. Yet speaking does not guarantee being heard. Instead, it can open a threshold where it is met with indifference, denial, and institutions unequipped to respond with care.

Nora’s practice of collecting testimonies is both an act of care and a way of metabolising her own experience. By creating this space for others, she builds an archive of survival. When that is threatened, she is forced to confront her past and the responsibility of protecting the voices entrusted to her. As Nora’s trauma resurfaces, she is drawn toward the promise of justice, resolution, and catharsis, while facing the possibility that it may remain out of reach. The film lives in this tension between speaking out and the cost of not being heard.

Asena wrote Nora to give shape to something she recognises in many girls and women: a kind of calcification, a necessary hardening against the world. Alongside this is a relentless pursuit of justice and a quiet negotiation with loss. Buket Kömür’s performance holds this with extraordinary force and sensitivity. Nora exists because of what she brings to her. In a world that can be cruel, Nora and Kyra have each other. Their friendship becomes a site of care, compassion, and patience – a refusal to accommodate a world structured by violence.

This film emerges from bearing witness to the intimacy and brutality of girlhood in London, its closeness and its danger. It is ultimately about the urgency of care and the distance that still exists between survival and resolution.  She dedicates it to her sisters, Buse and Melis, the women in her life, and the girls she grew up with.