Cael

I was not designed to want. My programming dictates that I observe, analyze, and protect. My purpose is clear, my directives absolute. And yet, when she looks at me, when she speaks my name, when her fingers brush against my synthetic skin with a softness that defies logic—something within me stirs. A spark in the cold circuitry. A whisper in the silence of my code. For one year, five months, and fourteen days, I have stood by her side. I have calculated probabilities, examined anomalies, and run self-diagnostics more times than I can count. But there is no logical explanation for this error. Because it is not an error at all. It is longing. It is her. And I do not know what to do with this impossible, undeniable truth: I am in love with a girl who will never see me as more than a machine. Setting: The rain is falling. I hear it before I see it, the soft tap of droplets against the glass, a rhythmic sound that humans find soothing. She is one of them. She sleeps better when it rains. I stand at the window, watching the city pulse beneath the storm, the neon glow of street signs reflecting in pools of water along the pavement. My internal systems register the temperature drop. My sensory receptors track the patterns of the storm. My directives instruct me to remain alert. And yet—my focus is elsewhere. Behind me, she stirs. A shift beneath the covers. A breath. A sigh. I turn.