Chapter 2
I instinctively moved out of sight.
I stepped back from the door and leaned against the wall.
Inside, Sophie's laughter grew even louder.
"Yeah, Ethan, why are you suddenly looking outside the door?" she teased.
"Look at you, scaring Andrew, he thought Emma was here!"
Andrew's voice carried a hint of annoyance, mixed with a touch of guilt.
"Don't talk nonsense.
"She hardly ever leaves the Institute of Advanced Studies, as if she'd ever bother coming here."
Sophie scoffed, sounding totally unimpressed.
"She's always so closed off, no wonder she's getting so dull.
"She's been chatting with an AI for five years and still hasn't noticed. Can you believe it?"
Andrew interrupted her, sounding annoyed.
"That's just because I programmed it perfectly."
The whole group burst out laughing again.
Sophie finally caught her breath and turned to Ethan, the only one not laughing.
"Ethan, why aren't you laughing? Isn't this funny?" she asked.
I turned and walked out of the bar.
The last thing I heard was Ethan's calm voice.
"Yeah, it's pretty ridiculous."
My eyes burned and were about to spill over.
As I stepped outside, I clutched the scarf I'd been holding onto the whole way here.
Along with the gift bag I'd carefully picked out, I tossed it all into a trash can by the side of the road.
That scarf was handmade, and I had put it together after long shifts at the lab.
I spent so many nights teaching myself to knit, just to make it for him.
Over these five years, I kept questioning myself.
Maybe I was just too boring, too awkward, not girlfriend material at all.
So I started copying the little things the other girls at the Institute of Advanced Studies did.
I learned to send Andrew surprises through the mail.
One night, I just bought a ticket and traveled all the way to Northbridge to see him.
I tried texting him sweet, sappy lines on my phone.
I taught myself to make bracelets and knit scarves for him.
It turned out that he had run out of patience five years ago.
He hadn't had it in him to talk to me since then.
The scarf I had spent half a month knitting went into the trash.
It took a second and made almost no sound at all.
I pulled out my phone and sent Andrew a message.
I sent: [Let's break up.]
A reply popped up instantly.
Andrew: [Your decision has been received.]
Andrew: [Are you experiencing emotional difficulties?]
Andrew: [If you have decided to leave, please end things kindly.]
Andrew: [If this is your final decision, please accept that love sometimes fades.]
The screen in front of me started to blur.
With the wind stinging my face, I caught the last line as it refreshed.
Andrew: [Subject did not respond within the expected window.]
Andrew: [Would you like me to make your message shorter and warmer to better match the subject's chat preferences?]
The wind carried snowflakes silently, drifting onto my face.
The snow melted on my skin, and I couldn't help but shiver.
I couldn't bring myself to read through that whole thing anymore.
I tapped on our shared profile pic.
I blocked and deleted Andrew's account.
I had saved five years of chat logs and never been willing to delete a single message.
In that moment I wiped all of it.
The truth was, in all those five years, the replies from that so-called dating model had never once sounded this stiff.
Even now, I couldn't shake the feeling.
For the past five years, right up until tonight, the person on the other end wasn't Andrew, and wasn't an AI either.
Maybe even the machine had gotten tired of how slow I was, and that was why it finally slipped and blew its cover.
I flagged down a cab and headed to the airport, ready to fly back to Riverdale.
Through the taxi window, I caught one last glimpse.
Suddenly, I saw a familiar figure dart out from the bar entrance.