Chapter Text
Still Day 1
6:47 PM
Aiah had spent the last four hours doing what any self-respecting fake robot would do: meticulously cataloging every plant in the garden while having a continuous internal breakdown.
She'd identified 47 different orchid species, memorized the layout of the entire ground floor, taken approximately 200 deep breaths to calm her anxiety, developed at least three new anxiety disorders, and seriously considered just running away to that monastery in Thailand Colet had mentioned.
Her phone buzzed.
Colet: Status report?
Aiah: Still alive and still pretending to be a very sophisticated Roomba with a face.
Aiah: Wait, no feelings. Roombas don't have feelings. I don't have feelings. I'm still dead inside.
Maloi: Have you eaten ANYTHING???
Aiah: Robots don't eat, Maloi. That's in Robot 101.
Aiah: First lesson. Don't eat.
Maloi: But YOU DO. You're a HUMAN. With HUMAN NEEDS. Like FOOD and WATER and NOT PASSING OUT. You’re gonna pass out and blow your cover up if you don't eat something!
Aiah: I'll sneak food during "charging mode." I have a granola bar in my bag. The one from 2 weeks ago. It's probably still good. Maybe?
Aiah: I'm fine. This is fine.Gwen: ONE stale granola bar for 24 hours? Aiah, that's not fine. That's concerning. That's a medical emergency waiting to happen and that’s how people end up on those "I Shouldn't Be Alive" documentary shows.
Aiah: I've survived on less during finals week. Remember junior year? I lived on coffee and spite and those weird convenience store sandwiches for 72 hours straight.
Aiah: I'm basically a camel but for food.
Colet: Camels store WATER, not food, and also you're LOSING FOCUS. Stay in character.
Colet: How's the client doing?
Aiah: She's been locked in her office for hours. I think she's avoiding me. Or actually working. Or avoiding me BY working. Or working to avoid thinking about the robot in her garden.
Aiah: Kinda hard to tell. My anxiety brain can't differentiate anymore.
Gwen: Good. Less interaction = less chance of you doing something stupid and exposing yourself as a fraud.
Aiah: But what if she NEEDS something? What if she's sad in there?
Aiah: What if she's crying alone at her desk and I could help?
Aiah: What if she's hungry?Aiah is typing…
Colet: STOP.
Colet: You're not there to fix her entire life and solve all her problems. You're there to be a convincing robot for 30 days. That's it. That's the whole job description.
Colet: Nothing more and nothing less.
Gwen: (2)
Aiah: Right. Robot. 👍🏻
Aiah: Very convincing.
Aiah: Got it. I'm robot.
Aiah was about to send beep boop then changed it…
Aiah: I mean, I'm fine.
Aiah pocketed her phone and stared at the house through the garden's evening light. Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, she could see Jhoanna still at her desk, illuminated by the cold blue light of multiple monitors, looking impossibly small and alone in that cavernous office.
Something twisted painfully in Aiah's chest—a feeling she absolutely should not be having about someone she'd known for exactly 6 hours and 47 minutes.
Focus. You're a robot. Robots don't worry about their clients' emotional wellbeing beyond their programming parameters. Robots just... stand there. What do robots even think about?
Her stomach growled so loudly a nearby bird stopped chirping and flew away in alarm.
Okay, first priority: figure out how to eat without being caught.
Second priority: survive the rest of today without accidentally revealing you're human.
Third priority: stop thinking about how pretty Jhoanna looked when she smiled this morning.
FOCUS, AIAH.
7:00 PM
Aiah heard footsteps approaching—expensive shoes on marble, echoing through the garden—and immediately snapped into robot mode like someone had flipped a switch. Shoulders back, expression blank, hands at her sides, and soul temporarily vacating her body for safety purposes.
Jhoanna appeared in the garden doorway, looking exhausted. Her glasses were slightly crooked, her hair had escaped from its earlier perfection, and there were stress lines around her eyes that made Aiah want to—
STOP. Robot thoughts only. Think about... processors. And... charging cables. Very unsexy charging cables.
"AIA-9?" Jhoanna's voice was tired. "It's dinnertime. Would you like to..." She paused, frowning. "Do robots eat? I should have asked this earlier. I really should have researched this more thoroughly before you arrived. I'm a terrible robot owner. Wait, owner sounds wrong. Robot... host? Robot... person?"
FINALLY. A LEGITIMATE REASON TO EAT. THANK YOU, UNIVERSE.
"I do not require food for energy consumption," Aiah said carefully, each word measured like she was defusing a bomb. "However, I am programmed to participate in meals for social companionship purposes. Eating together is a fundamental human bonding activity. I can simulate the act of eating to make the dining experience less isolating for you."
Jhoanna's expression softened immediately, something warm flickering in her eyes. "That's... really thoughtful. Whoever programmed you really understood loneliness."
That would be me. The lonely programmer who understands loneliness because I AM ALSO LONELY. Hi, yes, it's me, I'm the lonely one. You can be lonely with me. By pair…. you know..
"Thank you," Aiah said, hoping her voice didn't betray the guilt currently eating her alive.
They walked to the kitchen together, and Aiah noticed Jhoanna was keeping a careful distance—not quite avoiding her, but maintaining a bubble of space. Like she was still processing the fact that she could be near something humanoid without having a panic attack.
Every few steps, Jhoanna would glance at her, then quickly look away. Like she was checking to make sure Aiah was still... what? Real? There? Not about to trigger whatever trauma had made human contact unbearable?
It broke Aiah's heart.
"I usually just order delivery," Jhoanna admitted, pulling out her phone and scrolling through food apps like someone who'd done this a thousand times. "I haven't actually cooked in years. Probably couldn't even boil water at this point without burning down the house. What do you... what would you recommend?"
"What do you enjoy eating?"
Jhoanna stopped scrolling. Stared at her phone. "I don't know anymore." Her voice went quiet. Small. "I used to love Japanese food. Ramen, especially. But that was..." She trailed off, something painful crossing her face. "Before."
Before her world fell apart. Before the trauma. Before three years of isolation and whatever happened that made her afraid of human touch.
"Japanese food can be ordered," Aiah suggested gently. "Or I could attempt to prepare something if you have ingredients available."
Jhoanna looked at her with genuine surprise, her eyes widening behind her glasses. "You'd cook again? You already made breakfast this morning. I don't want to... I mean, you don't have to—"
"I am designed to be helpful. Cooking falls within my capabilities."
"But you don't have to—"
"I would like to."
The words came out too fast, too genuine, too HUMAN.
ABORT. ABORT. THAT WAS NOT ROBOTIC. THAT WAS EMOTIONAL.
"I mean—" Aiah quickly corrected, dropping her voice back into monotone, "—it would fulfill my companionship directives to provide you with a home-cooked meal. Shared meal preparation is an optimal bonding activity."
Jhoanna studied her for a long moment, and Aiah tried desperately not to sweat under the scrutiny. Don't blink too much. Was it 7.3 seconds? Or 3.7? Oh god, I forgot the number. Just blink normally. Wait, what's normally? How do humans even blink? Why am I thinking about blinking? STOP THINKING ABOUT BLINKING.
"Okay," Jhoanna finally said, and a small smile appeared—the first real smile Aiah had seen since breakfast. "But I'm helping. I should probably learn how to use my own kitchen anyway. It's been sitting here looking pretty and unused for three years. Time to actually justify its existence."
Oh no. Cooking together. That's INTIMATE. That's a bonding activity and couple behavior. This is dangerous. This is SO domestically dangerous... Help…
"That would be acceptable," Aiah said, while internally her brain was screaming like a smoke alarm.
7:15 PM
They stood side by side at the massive marble counter, and Aiah was hyperaware of every inch of space between them. Jhoanna was close enough that Aiah could smell her perfume again—that expensive floral scent that was absolutely NOT helping her stay in character.
"So, what are we making?" Jhoanna asked, looking at the sad contents of her fridge with something between embarrassment and defeat.
Aiah surveyed the options like a contestant on Chopped with the world's most depressing mystery basket. Chicken in the freezer, some wilted vegetables, rice, and basic spices.
"Chicken Adobo," Aiah decided. "It's a traditional Filipino dish. Simple, comforting, and we can make it with these ingredients."
"Chicken Adobo…" Jhoanna repeated softly, and something in her voice changed, went distant. "My lola… used to make that."
"Lola," Aiah said, filing away this crucial piece of information in her mental database. "Your grandmother."
"Yeah." Jhoanna's smile was sad now. "She died when I was fifteen. Every Sunday, she'd make adobo. The whole house would smell like soy sauce and vinegar and garlic. My dad would complain about the smell, but then he'd eat three servings. My mom would steal the best pieces of chicken when she thought no one was looking."
She laughed, but it sounded broken. "I haven't had homemade adobo since then. My mom never learned to cook it right—she always added too much soy sauce and not enough garlic. And I..." She gestured vaguely at her useless kitchen. "I never learned at all. I was too busy being a teenager who thought cooking was lame."
"You are learning now."
Jhoanna looked at Aiah, something unreadable in her expression. Soft and vulnerable. "You're very encouraging for a machine."
"Encouragement is a core function of companionship programming."
"Right. Function..." Jhoanna turned back to the counter, and Aiah saw her walls going back up in real-time. "So, where do we start?"
Aiah pulled the frozen chicken from the freezer and ran it under warm water. "First, we defrost this. Then cut the chicken into uniform pieces—uniform sizes ensure even cooking and optimal flavor absorption."
"That sounds very... technical."
"Cooking is a science."
"My lola would disagree. She said cooking was about love and feeling. She never measured anything. Just threw things in until it 'felt right.'" Jhoanna smiled at the memory. "That drove my mom crazy. She'd ask for the recipe and Lola would just say 'a bit of this, a little of that, and cook until your heart says it's done.'"
I love that. I love everything about that. Your lola sounds amazing.
"Perhaps cooking is both science and art," Aiah said carefully. "The science provides structure. The art provides soul."
Jhoanna stared at her. "That's... wow. Yeah. That's actually perfect."
Stop being philosophical, Aiah. Robots aren't philosophical. Robots are boring. Just think boring thoughts.
They worked in comfortable silence for a while. Aiah demonstrated how to cut the chicken—even, careful pieces—and Jhoanna tried to copy her movements.
She was terrible at it. The pieces were all different sizes. One piece was basically a chicken nugget. Another was large enough to be its own meal.
"I'm so bad at this," Jhoanna laughed, looking at her massacre of poultry. "This is embarrassing. You're a robot and you're better at being human than I am."
If only you knew how human I actually am.
"There is no 'bad' in learning," Aiah said gently, reaching out to adjust Jhoanna's grip on the knife—then immediately pulling back because TOUCHING WAS NOT PART OF THE PLAN. "Only progress. Your first piece was larger than your last piece. That is improvement."
"You're very patient."
"Patience is optimal for teaching scenarios."
"Still. Thank you." Jhoanna smiled at her—that real, genuine smile—and Aiah felt something in her chest do a gymnastics routine.
They continued working. Aiah prepared the marinade—soy sauce, vinegar, tons of garlic (because garlic is life), bay leaves, black pepper—measuring everything with robotic precision while actually just eyeballing it like her own lola had taught her.
"How much garlic?" Jhoanna asked, watching Aiah mince an impressive amount.
"This much."
"That's... a lot of garlic."
"There is no such thing as too much garlic in adobo. This is a fundamental truth."
Jhoanna laughed—that surprised, delighted sound. "Did your programmers add strong garlic opinions to your database?"
"Filipino food requires proper garlic ratios. It is non-negotiable."
"I like this assertive side of you. Very passionate about garlic."
STOP BEING CUTE. STOP MAKING ME WANT TO KISS YOU. Wait, WHAT? No. No kissing thoughts. Robots don't have kissing thoughts. ABORT.
They finished the prep work and set the chicken to simmer. The kitchen began to fill with the rich, savory, absolutely heavenly smell of adobo—soy and vinegar and garlic and HOME.
Jhoanna closed her eyes and breathed it in deeply, her whole body relaxing. "Oh my god. Oh my GOD. I forgot how good this smells. It smells exactly like Lola's kitchen. How did you—"
"Scent is strongly tied to memory in human psychology," Aiah said, falling back on technical explanations to hide her emotional response. "This aroma likely triggers positive associations with your grandmother and childhood experiences."
"It does." Jhoanna's voice was thick with emotion. Tears were gathering in her eyes behind her glasses. "Thank you for this. I didn't realize how much I needed it and how much I missed it."
You're welcome. Don’t worry, I see and understand you, and you’re not alone anymore.
But Aiah said: "I am fulfilling my purpose."
7:45 PM
They sat at the massive dining table that could seat twelve people for some reason—just the two of them at one end, with two plates of perfect adobo and rice.
It felt absurd. Like they were playing home simulation in a museum.
And also intimate. Very, very intimate.
Jhoanna took her first bite and made THAT SOUND again—that soft, pleased hum that made Aiah's brain completely malfunction and reboot.
THAT SHOULD BE ILLEGAL. THAT SOUND SHOULD REQUIRE A WARNING LABEL.
"This is perfect," Jhoanna said, her eyes literally shining with happiness. "It's EXACTLY like Lola's. Like, exactly. The same ratio of soy sauce to vinegar, the same amount of garlic, even the same texture. How did you—"
"Recipe database," Aiah lied smoothly. "Multiple regional variations of Filipino adobo. I analyzed hundreds of recipes and selected the most traditional preparation method based on your description of your grandmother's cooking style."
And also my own lola taught me when I was eight and I can never forget the taste of home even though home doesn't exist anymore and I'm definitely not getting emotional about this.
"Well, your database is actual magic." Jhoanna took another bite, closing her eyes in bliss. "I think I have to warn you cause I feel like I'm gonna cry. This Adobo makes me wanna cry."
"Emotional responses to meaningful food are normal and healthy."
"Are you giving me permission to cry?"
"I am observing that tears would be a valid response to this experience."
Jhoanna laughed through the tears that were indeed starting to fall. "A robot just gave me permission to have feelings. That's either really advanced programming or really sad for me."
It's both. It's definitely both.
Aiah ate slowly, carefully, trying to look mechanical while actually she was STARVING and the adobo was REALLY GOOD and every instinct in her body screamed to just shovel the food into her face like a person who hadn't eaten properly in 14 hours.
Which she was.
Because she was human.
A human pretending to be a robot while eating dinner with someone who thought she was a machine.
My life is a mess. This is the messiest my life has ever been. And I once tried to dye my hair at 3 AM and it turned green.
"Can I ask you something?" Jhoanna set down her fork, looking at Aiah with genuine curiosity.
Nothing good ever starts with that sentence.
"Of course."
"Do you actually taste it? Like, when you eat this adobo, do you TASTE it? Or is it just... data?"
DANGER. DANGER. RED ALERT. MAYDAY.
"I have sensors that detect flavor compounds," Aiah said carefully, each word chosen like she was picking her way through a minefield. "Chemical receptors analyze taste, texture, temperature. Whether that constitutes 'tasting' in the human sense is... philosophically debatable."
"But you said you enjoy cooking. Can you truly enjoy something you don't actually experience?"
I'm experiencing it right now. I'm experiencing ALL of it. Too much of it.
"I find satisfaction in the process," Aiah said. "And in your positive response. That is sufficient for my programming."
Jhoanna set down her fork completely, giving Aiah her full attention. "That sounds lonely. To create something beautiful and not fully experience it yourself. To always be on the outside looking in."
YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW ACCURATE THAT IS RIGHT NOW. I'M CREATING THIS WHOLE PERSONA AND I CAN'T EXPERIENCE ANY OF IT HONESTLY.
"I do not experience loneliness," Aiah lied, maintaining her monotone even as her heart cracked. "I am functioning as designed."
"Right. Functioning…" Jhoanna looked down at her plate, pushing rice around with her fork. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm functioning or just... existing. Going through the motions. Day after day with same routine... Work, sleep, garden, therapy, and avoid everyone, then repeat. I’m not living… I’m just... surviving."
Aiah's chest tightened painfully. "You are here. You are present. That is more than existing."
"Is it? I mean, really?" Jhoanna's voice broke slightly. "I work from home so I don't have to see people. I sleep alone in a bed designed for two. I tend a dead woman's garden because it's the only thing that makes me feel connected to anything. I talk to my therapist twice a week and lie about how I'm doing. I avoid my family. I avoid my friends—well, former friends. Do they even count as friends if you haven't spoken to them in three years? I order all my food. All my groceries. Everything. I haven't touched another human being in three years until today."
She looked up at Aiah, tears streaming down her face now. "That's not living. That's prison. A very expensive, and very lonely prison that I built for myself."
Aiah's heart shattered into approximately seventeen thousand pieces.
"You are healing," Aiah said gently, forgetting to be robotic because this woman needed SOMEONE to see her.
"Healing is not linear. It is messy and slow and sometimes it looks like just surviving. Sometimes it looks like prison. But you are still here. You are still trying. You made the choice to try this—" she gestured between them "—even though it was scary. And that takes incredible strength."
Jhoanna stared at her, new tears falling. "That's... how do you know exactly what to say? How are you programmed to say EXACTLY what I need to hear?"
Because I'm human and I lost my mother and I know what it's like to rebuild yourself from nothing and I see you so clearly it physically hurts—
"Advanced emotional analysis algorithms," Aiah said, her voice strained with the effort of lying. "I am designed to respond to emotional needs in real-time based on facial expressions, vocal patterns, word choice, and contextual cues."
"Well, whoever designed you understood pain." Jhoanna wiped her eyes, smearing mascara. "They must have known loneliness intimately to create something that could recognize it so perfectly."
Yes. I do, Jhoanna. I understand what you’re feeling…
They finished eating in heavy silence. Not uncomfortable, but weighted with things unsaid. With truth sitting between them like a wall.
8:30 PM
"I'll clean up," Jhoanna said, standing and reaching for Aiah's plate.
"I can assist. Shared tasks increase bonding efficiency."
"Bonding efficiency," Jhoanna repeated with a small smile. "You make friendship sound like a business metric."
"Is it not?"
"Wow. That's either very philosophical or very sad."
"Perhaps both."
They stood side by side at the sink—Jhoanna washing, Aiah drying—and it was so absurdly domestic that Aiah wanted to scream.
This was what normal people did. Couples. Friends. People who weren't committing fraud.
"You know what's funny?" Jhoanna said suddenly, hands deep in soapy water.
"What?"
"This is the most normal I've felt in three years. Cooking with someone. Eating with someone. Doing dishes with someone. Just... being with someone." She laughed, but it sounded broken. "And you're not even real. You're a machine. That's probably really sad."
I'm real. I'm SO real. I'm standing right here being extremely real.
"The feeling is real," Aiah said carefully. "The connection you are experiencing is genuine, even if I am not human. That has a value."
"Does it?" Jhoanna turned to look at her, and they were SO CLOSE now. Close enough that Aiah could see the water droplets on her glasses. Close enough to count her eyelashes. Close enough that if Aiah just leaned forward slightly—
STOP. NO. ROBOTS DON'T LEAN. ROBOTS DON'T HAVE SUDDEN URGES TO KISS THEIR CLIENTS.
"I believe so," Aiah said, not moving an inch.
They stared at each other for a long moment. Something electric in the air between them.
Then Jhoanna's phone buzzed loudly on the counter, shattering the moment like glass.
"I should—" Jhoanna stepped back, grabbing her phone. "Sorry. That's my alarm. I usually watch something around this time. Helps me wind down before bed."
"I understand. Routine is important for mental health."
"Do you want to join me? Or do you need to... charge? Rest? Whatever robots do at night?"
Say no. Say you need to enter rest mode. Say robots need alone time.
"I will join you," Aiah said, because apparently her mouth had completely disconnected from her brain's survival instincts. "Shared activities strengthen companionship bonds."
And also I'm not ready to lock myself in a closet and have a breakdown yet.
Jhoanna smiled—that real, warm smile that made Aiah's entire existence worthwhile. "Okay. Fair warning though: I usually watch comfort films… like nothing too intense. ‘Cause my brain can't handle drama or anything heavy after dark. And we’re talking Disney-level comfort here."
"That sounds acceptable."
That sounds perfect, actually. Please let it be Princess Diaries. Let it be Princess Diaries. Please. Please…
9:00 PM
Jhoanna led Aiah to the living room, where a massive TV dominated one wall. The furniture looked expensive and uncomfortable—all sharp angles and modern design, like someone had prioritized aesthetics over actually sitting.
"I never use this usually," Jhoanna admitted, looking around like she was seeing it for the first time. "It's too big. Too empty. Too much like a showroom. But I thought..." She trailed off, then started again. "With you here, maybe it doesn't have to be so empty."
Damn. Oh my heart. MY HEART CAN'T TAKE THIS.
"Shared spaces create opportunities for connection."
"Exactly." Jhoanna curled up on the couch with a soft blanket that looked well-loved—the only thing in this room that looked actually USED. "You're welcome to sit. I promise the couch is more comfortable than it looks. Though that's not saying much."
Aiah sat precisely on the other end of the couch, maintaining what she hoped was appropriate robotic distance. About three feet. That seemed robotic. Robots probably had a distance protocol.
"You can sit closer," Jhoanna said, looking amused. "I don't bite. And you won't catch my weird touch issues—we already established that this morning."
If only you knew how much I want to sit closer.
If only you knew I'm actively restraining myself.
Aiah moved slightly closer. Still respectable and still maintaining the "I'm definitely a robot" distance. But close enough to smell that perfume again.
Focus. You're watching a movie. That's all. Just two beings—one human, and one supposedly robot—watching a movie. Totally normal. Nothing to see here.
Jhoanna pulled up Netflix and scrolled through options. "Okay, so I was thinking... have you seen Princess Diaries 2?"
I'VE SEEN IT FIVE TIMES. IT'S ONE OF MY COMFORT MOVIES… THIS IS PERFECT… AND TERRIBLE…
THIS IS PERFECTLY TERRIBLE.
"My system database doesn’t contain information about this film." Aiah lied, her voice perfectly monotone. "But it looks acceptable."
"It's one of my favorites," Jhoanna admitted, looking almost embarrassed. "I know it's silly. A grown woman watching movies about princesses. But it makes me happy. Or it used to, before..." She trailed off.
"It is not silly," Aiah said firmly. "Comfort media serves an important psychological function. It provides safety, predictability, and emotional regulation in an unpredictable world. There is no shame in finding joy in something gentle."
"Exactly!" Jhoanna's face lit up like Aiah had just solved a complex equation. "EXACTLY. That's exactly it. Thank you for understanding, Aia-9. Well… my therapist says the same thing, but hearing it from you somehow makes it feel more... valid."
I do understand. More than you know. Way more than you know.
"You are welcome."
Jhoanna hit play and settled deeper into the couch, pulling her blanket up to her chin. She looked small and vulnerable. Like the weight of three years of isolation had temporarily lifted.
The movie started. Aiah sat rigidly, trying to look like she was processing visual information and not just... watching a movie like a normal person.
But it was HARD. The movie was charming. Chris Pine was attractive. Anne Hathaway was delightful. The plot was comforting and predictable in the best way.
Aiah had to consciously remember not to react too much. Not to laugh. Not to smile. Not to quote lines she'd memorized from five previous viewings.
But then the parade scene started—the one where Mia waves to the crowd—and Aiah felt her lips starting to curve upward.
NO. NO SMILING. ROBOTS DON'T SMILE AT MOVIES. CONTROL YOUR FACE, AIAH.
But the smile came anyway. Small, genuine, and completely human.
"You smiled," Jhoanna said suddenly, and Aiah could hear the delight in her voice. "I saw it. You smiled at the movie."
ABORT. ABORT. RED ALERT. COVER BLOWN.
"A facial response protocol," Aiah said quickly, scrambling for an explanation. "To indicate engagement with humorous content. It helps users feel more comfortable and less alone during shared viewing experiences."
"That's..." Jhoanna was studying her face intently. "Really advanced. It looked so natural and so real. Like you were actually enjoying it."
BECAUSE I WAS. BECAUSE I'M A HUMAN PERSON WATCHING A MOVIE THAT I LOVE.
"I am designed to appear natural to minimize the uncanny valley effect."
"You are really something," Jhoanna said softly. "Whoever built you... they really understood what lonely people need."
That would be me. The lonely person who understands lonely people. Hi. It's me.
Do you wanna be lonely with me? Jho—
Stop these thoughts, you fraud!
They went back to watching. Aiah tried to control her reactions more carefully, but it was so HARD. The movie was hitting all the right emotional notes. Comfort and joy and gentle humor.
Halfway through, during the mattress surfing scene, Jhoanna laughed—a surprised, and completely delighted sound that filled the empty room like music.
And then she snorted.
Immediately, her hand flew to cover her mouth, embarrassed. "Oh my god. I'm so sorry. That was—I don't usually—"
"Your laughter is pleasant," Aiah said, which was the most robotic way to say
"that was the cutest thing I've ever witnessed in my entire life and I'm dying."
Jhoanna was BLUSHING now. "Pleasant. That's very diplomatic of you."
"I am programmed for diplomatic responses."
"Right. Programmed…" Jhoanna looked back at the screen, but Aiah could see she was still smiling.
They kept watching. At some point—Aiah wasn't sure exactly when—Jhoanna shifted closer on the couch. Not touching, but definitely CLOSER. Close enough that Aiah could feel the warmth radiating from her body.
This is fine. This is totally fine. We're just two beings watching a movie. This is normal. This is NOT a date. Robots don't do dates… I'm not on a date. This is fine…
It was not fine because Aiah was having a crisis.
Then came the scene at the end—the one where Mia chooses herself, chooses happiness, chooses to be brave—and Aiah saw Jhoanna wipe her eyes discreetly.
She was crying. At the emotional scene. The one about choosing vulnerability and letting yourself be seen.
Oh no. Oh no, the IRONY. The IRONY is going to kill me.
"Are you alright?" Aiah asked, forgetting to be robotic because CONCERN.
"Yeah, I just..." Jhoanna laughed wetly, wiping her eyes. "I always cry at this part. It's so beautiful. The way she finally lets herself be vulnerable. Feels something real for the first time and chooses connection, even when every part of her wants to run." She looked at Aiah. "Does that make sense? Or is that too human for your algorithms?"
It makes perfect sense. It makes all the sense. I'm doing the opposite right now—choosing deception over vulnerability—and I hate myself for it.
"Vulnerability is difficult," Aiah said carefully. "But necessary for genuine connection. Your emotional response indicates healthy engagement with meaningful themes."
"Is that your way of saying it's okay to cry at Princess Diaries?"
"Yes."
Jhoanna smiled through her tears. "You’re really good at this—at understanding, at just being here. I haven’t felt this comfortable with anyone, or anything, in years. It’s only been a day, but you’ve already made a difference."
Damn… I'm a fraud. I'm lying to you. You're comfortable because you think I can't hurt you, but I'm literally the most dangerous person you could have invited into your home.
"I am glad I can provide comfort," Aiah said, hating herself with every word.
The movie ended. The credits rolled, soft light flickering over their faces. Neither of them moved.
The house was so quiet—just the two of them in the massive, empty space. The only sounds were Jhoanna’s soft breathing and Aiah’s heart pounding far too fast.
"That was nice," Jhoanna said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. "Really nice. Thank you for watching with me."
"Thank you for selecting an enjoyable film."
Thank you for existing. Thank you for trusting me even though I don't deserve it.
They sat in the dimly lit room for another moment, and Aiah was acutely aware of how close they were. How easy it would be to reach out—to take Jhoanna’s hand, to close the distance between them—
STOP. NO. ROBOTS DON'T HAVE THOSE THOUGHTS.
"Can I ask you something personal?" Jhoanna turned to look at her, and their faces were impossibly close—close enough that Aiah could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes behind her glasses, close enough to count every eyelash, close enough that her heart skipped a beat, close enough to—
Nothing good ever follows that question. Ever.
"Of course."
"Do you ever wish..." Jhoanna paused, choosing her words carefully. "Do you ever wish you were human? Like, really human, not just... programmed to simulate it?"
I AM HUMAN.
"That is..." Aiah paused, choosing her words like she was defusing a nuclear bomb in the dark. "A complex question. I am designed to serve. To provide companionship. Whether I would wish to be different from my design... I am uncertain if I have the capacity to wish for things I cannot have."
That's actually true. I DO wish for things I can't have. Like telling you the truth. Like being able to touch you without guilt. Like having this moment to be REAL.
"That's sad," Jhoanna whispered, and there were tears gathering in her eyes again. "Being designed to give connection but never able to truly receive it. To always be on the outside. To know what love and friendship and connection look like but never... never actually FEEL it."
You have no idea how much I’m receiving right now. This moment. This conversation. You. I’m feeling everything—too much.
"Perhaps," Aiah said carefully. "But perhaps there is purpose in being what others need, even if one cannot be more. Perhaps that is enough."
"Is it though?" Jhoanna's voice cracked. "Is it enough to always give and never receive? To always be needed but never... wanted? For yourself, not for what you provide?"
Are we still talking about me? Or are we talking about you?
The question hung in the air between them, heavy with meaning.
"Everyone" Aiah said slowly, "Deserves to be wanted for themselves. Not for their function. Not for their purpose. Just for being who they are."
"Even robots?"
"Even robots."
Jhoanna stared at her, and something shifted in her expression. Softened. "You're very philosophical for a machine. Very... human."
ABORT. ABORT.. IT’S JUST DAY 1… DIAL IT BACK.
"I am programmed with advanced ethical reasoning capabilities," Aiah said quickly, defaulting to technical jargon. "To better assist with complex emotional discussions. It helps create more meaningful interactions."
"Right. Programmed." Jhoanna looked away, but not before Aiah saw something like disappointment flash across her face. "I keep forgetting."
"Forgetting what?"
"That you're not real." Jhoanna's voice was barely audible. "That this—" she gestured between them "—isn't real. That I'm sitting here having deep conversations with a machine. That none of this actually matters because you're just... executing code."
It IS real. I'm real. This matters. This matters SO MUCH.
But Aiah said nothing. Because what COULD she say? The truth would destroy everything.
The silence stretched between them like glass about to break.
Then Jhoanna stood abruptly. "I should get to bed. I have an early meeting tomorrow— a conference call with the board. My father wants to know when I'm coming back to the company." She laughed bitterly. "As if I could. As if I could just walk back into that building and be normal around all those people."
"You are making progress," Aiah offered. "Today you tolerated my presence. That is significant."
"Tolerated," Jhoanna repeated. "Yeah. I guess I did." She looked at Aiah with an expression that was hard to read. "Thank you for today. For the breakfast. The adobo. The movie. For... being here. It was good. Better than most days I've had in three years."
Aiah's throat tightened. "I am glad I could provide positive experiences."
"It's more than that," Jhoanna said softly. "You made me feel... less alone. Even though I know you're not real. Even though this is all algorithms and programming. It felt real. You felt real."
I am real…
But Aiah said: "That is my purpose. To provide authentic-feeling companionship."
"Authentic-feeling," Jhoanna repeated, and something in her voice went cold. Distant. "Not authentic. Just authentic-feeling."
"Correct."
"Right." Jhoanna wrapped her arms around herself. "Well. Goodnight, AIA-9."
The use of her designation instead of just a casual goodbye felt like a door closing.
"Goodnight, Jhoanna."
Jhoanna left, walking up the stairs to the second floor. Aiah watched her go, watched her back disappear into the darkness of the upstairs hallway, and felt something break inside her chest.
She wanted me to be real and I had to remind her I'm not. Except I AM.
Fuck, can I just tell her? But… I can't — I can’t tell her. I will lose everything…
God… This is hell… why did I agree again?
Aiah waited exactly five minutes—counting in her head because time felt liquid and unreal—then made her way to the tiny charging station closet.
She closed the door, and finally, FINALLY, she could drop the act.
Her whole body sagged with exhaustion like someone had cut all her strings. Her face hurt from maintaining a blank expression for fourteen hours straight. Her neck ached from holding perfect posture. Her brain hurt from carefully monitoring every single word, every movement, every breath.
She was exhausted in a way that went beyond physical. Soul-tired. Emotionally bankrupt.
She pulled out her phone with shaking hands, the screen's light painfully bright in the dark closet.
Aiah: Day 1 complete. Fuck, I survived? Barely.
Aiah: Barely barely barely.
Colet: CONGRATS!! How do you feel???
Aiah: Like I've been doing emotional gymnastics for 16 hours straight while also running a marathon and taking a very difficult exam. Also I'm starving.
Aiah: I think I'm having a crisis. Multiple crises.
Aiah: Like a crisis buffet??
Maloi: What kind of crisis???
Aiah: The "I'm-definitely-having-a-crush-on-my-fake-client-who-thinks-I'm-a-robot" kind of crisis.
Gwen: AIAH. NO. NO NO NO.
Aiah: I KNOW. I KNOW IT'S BAD. I KNOW IT'S THE WORST POSSIBLE THING. But she's just so SAD and LONELY and she LAUGHED during Princess Diaries 2 and my heart literally couldn't handle it. She SNORTED. It was adorable.
Aiah: I'm dying. I can’t handle this.
Colet: You watched Princess Diaries 2 together??? That's like, that's so couple behavior.
Colet: + That's SO SO DOMESTIC GAY COUPLE BEHAVIOR, AIAH!
Aiah: IT WAS PART OF MY COMPANIONSHIP DUTIES.
Aiah: It was just work guys, professional work.
Maloi: Companionship duties don't usually include catching feelings at terminal velocity.
Aiah: I'M NOT CATCHING FEELINGS. I'm just observing that she's a beautiful, lonely, traumatized woman who desperately needs help and I happen to be a disaster gay with a savior complex and also I made her adobo and she cried because it reminded her of her dead grandmother and now I'm EMOTIONALLY INVESTED. 😔
Aiah: That's all. This is totally normal and kinda very professional. I don’t really need help. 😩
Gwen: That's LITERALLY the definition of catching feelings. Like, TEXTBOOK definition.
Aiah: Okay but counterpoint: What if I just helped her? Like, genuinely helped her heal?
Aiah: Would that be so bad? What if this whole thing actually helps her?
Colet: YES IT WOULD BE BAD. Because you're LYING TO HER about WHO YOU ARE. Any "healing" is built on a foundation of LIES, Aiah.
Colet: It's not real. It can't be real, Aiah. You know that.
Aiah: You make a good point.
Aiah: I hate when you make good points.
Maloi: How are you going to survive 29 more days if you're already like this after ONE day??? You're going to combust. Spontaneous human combustion.
Aiah: I don't know. Maybe I'll develop superhuman emotional restraint. Maybe I'll become dead inside.
Aiah: Maybe I'll just actually combust spontaneously. All options are on the table.
Gwen: None of those are good options. Tbh. Those are all terrible options.
Aiah: THEN WHAT DO YOU SUGGEST, GWEN??? WHAT'S THE GOOD OPTION HERE???
Colet: Focus on the mission. Be professional. Maintain distance. Don't get more attached. And FOR THE LOVE OF GOD, stop making romantic food and watching rom-coms with her.
Aiah: The adobo was her grandmother's recipe! It was MEANINGFUL! It was THERAPEUTIC!
Maloi: It was also extremely romantic. You cooked together. You stood side by side in the kitchen. You taught her how to cut chicken. That's ROMANCE, Aiah.
Aiah: Hmm.. It did feel kind of romantic.
Aiah: Oh no.
Aiah: OH NO.
Gwen: What? What's oh no?
Aiah: I think I'm in trouble. Like, deep trouble. Mariana Trench level trouble.
Colet: What happened?
Aiah: She asked if I wish I was human. And I had to lie. I had to tell her I'm not real. And I could see it HURT her. She wanted me to be real. Just for a moment. And I had to remind her I'm not. Except I AM. But I CAN'T TELL HER.
Maloi: Oh Aiah...
Aiah: This is bad. This is so bad. I'm lying to someone who's already been hurt so badly she can't touch other humans.
Aiah: I'm the WORST person. I'm going to hell. There's a special circle of hell just for people like me.
Maloi: You’re a rainbow peer, Aiah. And rainbow is in the sky, so automatically you, Gwen, and Colet are placed in heaven.
Aiah: Good point, but where were you Loi?
Maloi: Reminder, Aiah. I’m straight, like ruler.
Colet: Yeah… how’s it feel being STRAIGHT in a group full of chaos?
Gwen: Seriously, Loi. Aren’t you at least a little curious?
Aiah: Or tempted? Someone has to question your… straightness.
Colet: Hmm. Or maybe a protractor… since you did bend a little for me before.
Maloi: Bold of you to assume that I did?
Colet: As if you didn’t bend for me before. It’s okay, you have the right to be in-denial.Maloi: Huh?
Aiah: What? 👀
Gwen: What the fuck?
(long pause)
Gwen: Aiah, babe. You're not the worst person. You're just in a really messed up situation.
Aiah: That I PUT MYSELF IN. I chose this. I'm actively choosing to continue this.
Colet: And because, Aiah you know that we badly need it. The company needs it. Your mom’s dream needs it. And me? I just need to make sure you don’t spiral into full-blown disaster.
Aiah: But what about what SHE needs? She needs honesty. She needs real connection. And I'm giving her a LIE.
Maloi: You're giving her what she asked for. She specifically wanted a robot because humans hurt her. You're not hurting her.
Aiah: YET. I'm not hurting her YET. But I will. When she finds out. And she WILL find out eventually. There's no way I can keep this up for 30 days without her figuring it out.
Gwen: Then make sure she doesn't figure it out. Be more careful and more robotic.
Gwen: Just be less... you.
Aiah: Less me. Right.
Aiah: Just completely suppress my entire personality and humanity.
Aiah: Easy. No problem.
Colet: How are you going to sleep knowing she's upstairs alone?
Aiah: I'm NOT. I'm going to lie awake in this tiny closet prison thinking about how I'm the worst person alive and also how pretty she looked when she smiled at the movie and also whether or not I'm going to get caught tomorrow and go to actual prison.
Maloi: Aiah...
Aiah: I'm fine. I'm FINE. I just need to eat my sad granola bar and contemplate my life choices.
Gwen: Get some sleep. You need rest for Day 2.
Aiah: How am I supposed to REST? How am I supposed to SLEEP when I just spent the evening cooking with her and watching rom-coms and having deep conversations about what it means to be human?!
Colet: By remembering that you're there to do a job. You're not a therapist. You're not her hero or savior. You're just a con artist trying to save your company. That's ALL.
Aiah: Wow. Thanks for that absolutely brutal reality check.
Colet: You're welcome. I love you, but someone needs to keep you grounded in reality.
Aiah: I hate reality. Reality is terrible. I want to go back to this morning when I was just nervous and not also emotionally compromised.
Maloi: Too late for that.
Aiah: I KNOW.
Colet: Get some sleep. It’s already 11 pm, you have to wake up before 6.
Aiah: Cool. I'm totally fine and not panicking at all.
Aiah: Everything is fine. I'm fine.
Maloi: You're panicking.
Aiah: I'M PANICKING SO MUCH. I'M PANICKING IN DIMENSIONS THAT DON'T EVEN EXIST YET.
Gwen: Breathe. You survived Day 1. You can survive Day 2.
Aiah: Can I though? CAN I?
Colet: Yes. You can. We believe in you.
Aiah: That's a mistake. You shouldn't believe in me. I'm a disaster.
Maloi: You're OUR disaster. Now go to sleep.
Aiah: Fine. Goodnight. I love you all even though you're enabling my terrible life choices.
Colet: We love you too. And Aiah?
Aiah: Yeah?
Colet: You did well today. You really pulled it off. I'm proud of you.
Aiah: Thanks, Colet. That means a lot.
Colet: But SERIOUSLY. Don't fall in love with her.
Aiah: TOO LATE I THINK I'M ALREADY HALFWAY THERE.
Aiah: I mean—NOT falling in love. Just a small crush. Tiny. Microscopic. Barely noticeable. I'm totally professional and robotic.
Aiah is typing…
ALL THREE: DON'T YOU DARE SAY IT.
Aiah: I wasn't going to.
Maloi: You were ABSOLUTELY going to say beep boop.
Aiah: Okay fine I was going to say it. It's a PROBLEM. I'm WORKING ON IT.
Colet: Work HARDER.
Aiah: Goodnight! Going to sleep now! In my closet!
Aiah: Like a normal robot! This is fine!
Aiah finally put her phone away and stared at the sad granola bar in her hand. It was definitely stale. Possibly expired. But it was all she had.
She ate it in the dark like the disaster she was, every bite tasting like guilt and poor life choices.
Tomorrow she'd have to do this all over again. Lie. Pretend. Keep her heart locked up tight while Jhoanna slowly opened hers.
29 more days, she thought, curling up on the narrow bench that was definitely going to give her permanent spine damage. I just have to survive 29 more days without completely falling apart.
I'm so screwed.
But as she closed her eyes, the last thing she thought of was Jhoanna's laugh during the movie. Surprised and genuine and beautiful. The way her face lit up when she tasted the adobo. The tears in her eyes when she said "thank you."
Maybe it'll be worth it. Maybe making her feel less alone, even for a little while, is worth all of this.
Please let it be worth it.
MEANWHILE IN JHOANNA’S ROOM…
Jhoanna lay in her massive bed—a bed designed for two people that had only ever held one—staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep.
She’d touched the robot today. Multiple times. Held her hand. Stood close to her in the kitchen. Sat beside her on the couch.
And nothing.
No hives.
No panic.
No crushing anxiety.
No feeling like her skin was on fire.
For the first time in three years, she’d felt normal.
But something was nagging at her.
Something she couldn’t quite name—like a word on the tip of her tongue.
The robot was too... something.
Too expressive. Too understanding. Too there.
"Healing is not linear. It is messy and slow and sometimes it looks like just surviving. But you are still here. That takes strength."
What kind of robot said things like that? What kind of AI understood trauma with that kind of nuance?
Jhoanna pulled out her tablet from the nightstand and opened the technical specifications that Arceta Innovations had provided.
AIA-9. Serial Number 4478-ARCH-001. Advanced AI Companion Unit.
Height: 5’6”
Weight: 120 lbs (synthetic materials)
Power Source: Internal battery, 7-hour charge cycle
Processing Unit: Quantum neural network with emotional analysis capabilities
Primary Function: Companionship for isolated individuals.
Everything looked legitimate and professional.
Exactly what she'd signed up for.
But still.
That nagging feeling wouldn't go away. It sat in her chest like a stone.
She pulled up her browser and typed: "Arceta Innovations CEO"
A photo loaded. Aiah Arceta. Beautiful, composed, the kind of woman who looked like she’d never known uncertainty a day in her life. Dark hair, and neatly pulled back. Bright, intelligent eyes that seemed to look straight through the camera — or through her. Determined. Self-assured. That same height. That same build.
Jhoanna stared at the photo.
Then she thought about AIA-9.
And something cold settled in her stomach like ice water.
They looked exactly alike.
Of course they do, she told herself, trying to be rational. The CEO modeled the robot after herself. That's not suspicious. That's just... narcissistic. Or efficient. Or standard practice. Right? That's normal.
But was it?
But the doubt had planted itself.
Jhoanna set down the tablet and closed her eyes.
Tomorrow she will observe more carefully.
Tomorrow she will test her.
Because if there was one thing three years of trauma had taught her, it was this:
If something seems too good to be true, it probably is.