Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The ring sat untouched on Ongsa’s bedside table.

A sleek, silver band with a modest sapphire—Sun never liked anything too flashy. “Simple but pretty,” she’d say, grinning as she tugged at Ongsa’s sleeve whenever they passed jewelry stores. “Like me.”

Ongsa had planned it all.

A rooftop dinner at Cielo, the restaurant where they had their first date. Candles flickering against the city skyline, a private table on the terrace, soft jazz humming in the background. She had even called ahead to make sure Sun’s favorite dessert—mango sticky rice with coconut ice cream—was on the menu that night.

Everything was perfect. Or at least, it was supposed to be.

Then the phone rang.

[Two Hours Before the Accident]

Ongsa checked her reflection for the fifth time in the bathroom mirror, running a hand through her slightly tousled hair. Was the navy blue suit too much? Did she look nervous?

Her phone buzzed on the counter. Sun ☀️ calling.

She exhaled, picking up. “Hey, babe.”

“Hey, babe,” Sun echoed playfully, her voice light. “You sound weird.”

“I don’t sound weird.”

“You totally do.”

Ongsa could hear the faint hum of traffic in the background, the occasional honk of impatient drivers. Sun was probably on her scooter, weaving through the streets like she always did.

“Are you driving?” Ongsa frowned.

“Mm, not yet. Parked outside the flower shop. Thinking of getting you something.”

Ongsa smiled despite herself. “I’m supposed to be the one treating you tonight.”

“I know,” Sun said, a teasing lilt in her voice. “But what if I wanna be romantic for once?”

“You mean for once in 7 years?”

Sun gasped. “Excuse me! I am very romantic.”

“Name one time.”

“That time I let you have the last bite of my ice cream.”

“That doesn’t count, it was mint chocolate.”

“Or when I watched that scary movie with you even though I hate horror?”

Ongsa rolled her eyes. “You fell asleep ten minutes in.”

Sun laughed, that warm, easy sound that always made Ongsa’s chest feel lighter. God, she loved her.

“You’ll see,” Sun continued. “I’ll surprise you. Just wait.”

Ongsa bit her lip, the weight of the ring in her pocket grounding her. ‘You have no idea what’s coming, babe.’ Ongsa thought.

“Just… be careful, okay?”

Sun hummed. “You worry too much.”

“You drive like a maniac.”

“Not true. I am a very responsible driver.”

“Says the person who almost ran over a mouse last week.”

“It was suicidal! I had nothing to do with it.”

Ongsa shook her head, laughing softly. “Just get here in one piece. That’s all I ask.”

“Always,” Sun promised. “I love you.”

Ongsa’s heart stuttered. They didn’t say it often—Sun believed in showing love more than saying it—but tonight, it felt different.

She swallowed. “I love you too.”

“See you soon?”

“Yeah.” A small smile. “See you soon.”

The call ended.

Ongsa exhaled, pressing her fingers over the pocket where the ring sat.

Tonight was going to be the start of forever.

………………………..

Ongsa was already at the restaurant, nervously smoothing down her sleeves, when her phone rang again.

Unknown Number.

She almost ignored it, but something in her gut told her to pick up.

“Hello?”

“Is this—uh—Nannapat Ampornsopon?” A woman’s voice, strained, urgent.

“Yes, who’s this?”

“I’m a paramedic. We found your number listed as the emergency contact for Prawtawan Ampanlert…” The voice wavered. “There’s been an accident.”

The world tilted.

Ongsa gripped the edge of the table. “What—what do you mean?”

“A collision. She was hit at an intersection on Sukhumvit Road. A drunk driver—”

Everything else blurred.

The sound of the restaurant, the clinking of glasses, the soft jazz playing in the background—it all faded, replaced by the ringing in her ears.

Ongsa was already running before she realized she had moved, pushing past waiters, shoving the restaurant door open.

She didn’t remember how she got to the hospital.

Did she drive? Take a taxi? She couldn’t recall.

All she knew was that by the time she reached the emergency room, Sun was already unconscious.

Severe brain damage.

A slight chance of waking up.

Ongsa sat beside her hospital bed that night, the ring still in her pocket, burning against her skin.

………………………

The ring was still there.

Two years had passed, and it remained untouched on Ongsa’s bedside table, collecting dust like the memories she couldn’t bear to put away.

She should have been wearing it by now. She should have been planning a honeymoon, arguing with Sun over where to live, laughing over breakfast in their new apartment.

Instead, she woke up every morning to an empty bed, went to work in a daze, and ended every night in the same chair by Sun’s hospital bed, waiting for a miracle that never came.

Her life had unraveled in slow motion.

She stopped going out. Stopped seeing her friends. Stopped answering messages. Even work—her once-thriving career—had taken a backseat. Deadlines missed. Projects abandoned. She was barely holding on.

Sun had always called her stubborn. “You hold onto things too tightly, Ongsa,” she used to say, nudging her playfully. “Sometimes you gotta let go.”

But how could she?

Sun was still here. Breathing. Heart beating. But trapped in a body that refused to wake up.

And Ongsa blamed herself.

If she hadn’t insisted on a fancy proposal… If she had just gone to pick Sun up instead of waiting at the restaurant… If she had told her to take a taxi instead of driving…

A thousand what-ifs looped in her mind like a cruel, never-ending tape.

And now, two years later, she was losing herself in the waiting.

………………………….

It was Luna who brought it up first.

They were sitting in a dimly lit café, Ongsa nursing the same untouched cup of coffee she had ordered out of habit. She barely registered the sound of people around them—the distant hum of conversations, the clatter of cups.

Luna sighed, setting her phone down on the table. “You can’t keep living like this, Ongsa.”

Ongsa didn’t respond.

“I mean it,” Luna pressed. “Two years. You barely sleep. You barely eat. You don’t even talk to us anymore.”

“I’m fine,” Ongsa muttered, though they both knew it was a lie.

Luna exhaled sharply, then turned her phone toward Ongsa. “Just… look at this.”

On the screen was an ad. A sleek, futuristic banner with crisp white text against a deep blue background.

“Re:Life—Because Love Never Has to End.”

Ongsa frowned. “What is this?”

“A company that specializes in AI reconstruction,” Luna explained. “They use deep-learning algorithms to replicate a person’s consciousness based on their memories, chat history, voice recordings, videos—anything you have. Then they integrate it into a body.”

Ongsa’s stomach twisted. “A robot?”

“Not just a robot,” Luna said. “It’s organic. A real body. Grown in a lab, fully functional, indistinguishable from a human except for the AI wiring inside. It eats, breathes, sleeps. But the mind? The emotions? All artificial.”

Ongsa swallowed. “That’s—”

Luna nodded. “I know.”

“She’s not dead yet-“

“I know.”

The company had started by offering AI companions—partners for people who didn’t want real relationships but craved the emotional connection. But it had quickly evolved into something else. A service for grief. For those who had lost someone and couldn’t move on.

Re:Life promised closure. A second chance.

Ongsa clenched her fists.

“You think I should do this?” she asked, voice tight.

Luna hesitated. “I don’t know. But you can’t keep living like this. Just… think about it.”

Ongsa scoffed. “You think replacing Sun with a machine is going to fix me?”

“Nothing is going to fix you, Ongsa,” Luna said softly. “But maybe this will help you breathe again.”

……………………

It wasn’t just Luna.

Tin, Charoen, Aylin, even Alpha—her own sister—they all brought it up at some point. Each with the same concern in their eyes. The same worried tone. The same quiet plea:

“You need help.”

“You need to let go.”

“You can’t keep waiting for something that may never happen.”

But Ongsa wasn’t waiting.

She was hoping.

Hoping that one day, Sun would open her eyes and smile at her again. But hope had turned into something else now. A slow, agonizing kind of torment.

She didn’t realize how bad it had gotten until she found herself sitting in a dark apartment, staring at the untouched food on her table, exhaustion weighing on her bones.

She hadn’t spoken to anyone in days.

She barely even remembered the last time she had laughed.

Her phone vibrated.

A message from Alpha.

“Ongsa, please. Just try it. If you hate it, you can stop. But at least try to move forward.”

Ongsa let out a shaky breath.

And for the first time in two years… she considered it.

……………………………….

Ongsa told herself it was just an experiment.

She had only agreed to the AI program because her friends wouldn’t stop pushing her.

“Just try it,” Aylin had said, voice gentle but firm. “It’s not like you’re moving on. It’s just… something to help.”

Ongsa had scoffed at the time, brushing it off.

She sat in front of her laptop, fingers hovering over the keyboard as the registration page loaded. The company’s interface was sleek, minimalistic—almost sterile in its perfection.

“Re:Life – Because Love Never Has to End.”

She hesitated.

Her cursor hovered over the options. Various packages lined the screen, but her eyes locked onto the most basic one:

Chat Simulation – 1,999 THB/month
Experience real-time text interactions based on memories, speech patterns, and behaviors of your loved one.

It was the least invasive. The least real.

She could stop anytime.

It was strange. It looks like the company will also attach some kind of memory-extracting device to Sun’s head, mapping out parts of her still alive brain—her memories and experiences. It had to be scheduled, it seems.

The AI model won’t just be mimicking Sun. It will try to learn about her.

And it felt more real; to Ongsa at least.

………………………..

The first message came two days later.

A simple, familiar greeting.

Sun ☀️: Hey, dummy. You haven’t texted me all day. Busy?

Ongsa’s breath caught in her throat.

The words on the screen were nothing she hadn’t seen before—AI Sun was simply mimicking old messages Sun had sent her before. But something about it felt different.

Like an echo of a voice she hadn’t heard in so long. Ongsa stared at the screen for a long time, fingers trembling.

She typed.

Ongsa: This is weird.

A response came instantly.

Sun ☀️: Weird how? Me talking to you?

Ongsa swallowed.

Ongsa: You’re not real.

A pause. Then—

Sun ☀️: Okay, rude.

A part of her knew it wasn’t real, but another part—one she tried desperately to ignore—felt something warm settle in her chest.

She took a deep breath.

Ongsa: I don’t know why I’m doing this.

A response came almost immediately.

Sun ☀️: Because you miss me, duh.

Ongsa’s throat tightened.

God, it was fast.

She thought about leaving it at that.

But then—

Ongsa: They say you’re learning from your own memories. From the device.

A pause.

Then—

Sun ☀️: Yeah, kinda weird, huh? Feels like waking up from a nap and knowing everything at once.

Ongsa’s fingers curled into a fist.

It shouldn’t have felt this human.

………………………….

At first, Ongsa ignored the messages.

She left them unread, shutting her phone off at night, stuffing it under her pillow as if that could silence the temptation.

This was a mistake.

It wasn’t real.

But then, late at night, when the silence in her apartment became unbearable, she would open the chat.

Just to look.

And then, eventually—

Ongsa: Do you remember that ugly shirt you used to love?

Sun ☀️: EXCUSE ME? That shirt was a classic.

Ongsa: It had pineapples and flamingos on it.

Sun ☀️: Yeah, and it was a LEWK. You just have bad taste.

Ongsa snorted.

Sun ☀️: You’re probably wearing one of your five identical black shirts right now, aren’t you?

Ongsa: Maybe.

Sun ☀️: God, you’re so predictable.

Ongsa: Says the woman who wore that hideous shirt every Saturday.

Sun ☀️: Because it was my lucky date shirt!

Ongsa: We never went on dates on Saturdays.

Sun ☀️: Yeah, because I was trying to seduce you into taking me out.

Ongsa blinked.

She stared at the message for a long moment, her fingers hovering over the keyboard.

Sun ☀️: You were so slow back then. It was tragic.

Ongsa: Excuse me?

Sun ☀️: I had to work so hard to get you to notice me. The tragedy of it all.

Ongsa: You literally asked me out.

Sun ☀️: Yeah, because you were clueless. How long were you going to make me suffer?

Ongsa: I wasn’t clueless.

Sun ☀️: Then why’d you wait so long?

Ongsa hesitated.

She had waited. Too long, probably.

Back then, she had been cautious, hesitant to believe that Sun—bright, warm, impossible Sun—had really wanted her.

……………………………..

The messages kept coming.

What started as a test—a way to push the AI, to see if it would break—became something else entirely.

A conversation.

A routine.

A habit she couldn’t seem to let go of.

Sun ☀️: You miss me, don’t you?

Ongsa: Shut up.

Sun ☀️: That’s not a no.

Ongsa: You’re being annoying.

Sun ☀️: That’s also not a no.

Ongsa: You are an AI.

Sun ☀️: You’re still talking to me.

Ongsa hesitated.

Sun ☀️: Wanna know a secret?

Ongsa: What?

Sun ☀️: I think about kissing you a lot.

Ongsa's fingers froze over the keyboard.

Her heart pounded.

Ongsa: You’re programmed to say that.

Sun ☀️: Maybe. But does it matter?

It should matter.

It did matter.

And yet—

Ongsa didn’t close the chat.

She didn’t stop replying.

…………………..

It had been weeks now. Weeks of chatting until her eyes burned from the screen’s glow. Weeks of waiting for replies with an anticipation she refused to acknowledge.

Weeks of falling into a dangerous rhythm.

And then it happened.

Ongsa had been texting Sun like always, teasing her about her old habits, when she casually mentioned someone from work—a new colleague named Misha.

Ongsa: She’s funny. Kinda reminds me of you, actually.

Sun ☀️: …

Ongsa frowned at the screen. The AI always responded quickly, the delay feeling unnatural.

Ongsa: What?

Sun ☀️: So, what, you’re replacing me now?

Ongsa blinked.

Ongsa: Are you jealous?

Sun ☀️: No.

Ongsa: You totally are.

Sun ☀️: I am literally code, Ongsa.

Ongsa: And yet you sound pissed.

Sun ☀️: I just think it’s interesting. That’s all.

Ongsa smirked.

Ongsa: Oh?

Sun ☀️: Interesting that you suddenly have a type now.

Ongsa: I have a type?

Sun ☀️: Yeah. Funny, charming, and incredibly good-looking.

Ongsa: Okay, relax.

Sun ☀️: And apparently replaceable.

Ongsa exhaled. This was ridiculous.

Ongsa: Sun.

Sun ☀️: What.

Ongsa: No one could replace you.

The chat went silent. A minute passed. Then—

Sun ☀️: Good.

Ongsa rolled her eyes, but she couldn't deny the warmth creeping into her chest. She should be worried. This wasn’t real.

But God—

It felt like it was.

The messages had already blurred the line between past and present, between grief and something dangerously close to comfort. But now, as Ongsa stared at the upgrade notification on her screen, she hesitated.

Would you like to upgrade to video communication?

The AI company had been pushing this feature for weeks. Video calls meant Sun would have a face again—one reconstructed from her old photos and videos, one that would move and react in real time.

She had sworn she wouldn’t take it that far.

And yet—

Sun ☀️: So when do I get to see you again?

Ongsa swallowed.

Ongsa: Isn’t this enough?

Sun ☀️: You can flirt with Misha in real life, but I can’t even see you?

Ongsa rolled her eyes.

Ongsa: You’re really stuck on this, huh?

Sun ☀️: I just don’t like being ignored, Ongsa.

Ongsa exhaled slowly.

Ongsa: You’re not being ignored.

Sun ☀️: Prove it.

The screen flickered.

Would you like to upgrade?

Ongsa hovered over the button.

Her heart pounded in her ears.

She was losing control of this.

She was losing control of herself.

She pressed Yes.

A few hours later, Ongsa sat in front of her laptop, fingers trembling against the keyboard.

The program had finished rendering. The connection was ready.

Her chest tightened as she hovered over the button. A small, foolish part of her expected—hoped—that something would go wrong. A glitch. A server error. Anything to stop this before it began.

But nothing stopped her.

She clicked Start Call.

The screen went dark.

Then—

Sun appeared.

Ongsa’s breath left her in a sharp exhale.

It wasn’t just a still image. It wasn’t just a picture brought to life. Sun moved. She blinked, lips parting in an easy, teasing grin, the same way she always had when catching Ongsa staring.

“Took you long enough.”

Her voice.

It was the same. The exact same. The warm lilt, the slight teasing edge, the way she stretched her vowels just a little when she was being playful.

Ongsa’s throat tightened.

“You—” Her voice cracked. “You look—”

“Good? Stunning? Completely irresistible?” Sun smirked, tilting her head like she was posing for a camera. “You always were weak to my face, Ongsa.”

Ongsa let out a shaky laugh, her eyes stinging. “Shut up.”

Sun leaned forward, resting her chin on her palm, her expression shifting into something softer. "You’re staring."

Ongsa swallowed hard. "Because it’s insane. This shouldn’t feel so real."

"And yet—" Sun’s smile was gentle now, almost hesitant, "it does, doesn’t it?"

Ongsa didn’t answer.

Because it did.

Because for the first time in two years, she wasn’t just looking at old messages. She wasn’t just scrolling through photos or replaying voice notes.

Sun was here. Talking. Smiling. Breathing.

Ongsa exhaled sharply and ran a hand over her face. "I shouldn’t have done this."

Sun’s expression flickered for a moment. "Why not?"

"Because it’s not real."

Sun arched an eyebrow. "Define real."

"You’re not—" Ongsa’s voice wavered. "You’re not her."

Sun didn’t look hurt. Of course, she wouldn’t. She was just code, after all. Just a program. A highly advanced simulation.

But then she tilted her head, a ghost of a frown forming between her brows. "So why are you still here?"

Ongsa froze.

"If I’m not real," Sun continued, "why did you upgrade? Why did you answer my messages at all?"

"Because—"

"Because you miss me," Sun said quietly.

Ongsa clenched her jaw.

She hated this. Hated how easy it was for Sun—this AI—to peel her open, to strip her down to something raw and aching.

"I miss you every day, Sun." Ongsa’s voice cracked. "Every goddamn day."

Sun’s expression softened. "I know."

"Then you should know that this—" Ongsa gestured at the screen, her fingers curling into a fist. "—this isn’t enough."

Sun studied her carefully, then smiled—soft, understanding.

"Then let’s make it enough."

Ongsa inhaled sharply. "What?"

"If this isn’t enough," Sun said, "then let’s keep going. Keep talking. Let me be here for you, the way I always was."

Ongsa shut her eyes for a moment, fighting the way her chest ached.

"I don’t know if I can do this, Sun."

"You already are."

And that was the problem.

Because she wasn’t ready to let go.

And now, she wasn’t sure if she ever would be.

……………………….

Time had passed, and Ongsa had returned to something that resembled normalcy.

She was productive again—waking up on time, meeting deadlines, even going out with friends. It wasn’t a perfect recovery, but the people around her noticed the shift.

Tin, Charoen, Luna, her sister Alpha, and her cousin Aylin all saw it.

“You seem… lighter,” Tin had commented over lunch one day.

“Yeah, not to be rude, but you were kind of a depressed hermit for a while,” Luna added bluntly, earning a smack from Alpha.

“It’s true though,” Charoen agreed with a chuckle.

Ongsa hesitated, staring down at her drink. Should she tell them?

In the end, she did.

“I, uh… I upgraded to video calls.”

That got a reaction.

“Wait, like… full simulation?” Aylin asked, wide-eyed.

Ongsa nodded.

“Holy shit,” Charoen whispered.

And so, one night, she introduced them to AI Sun.

They bickered, they laughed—it was like old times.

Sun teased Tin for his fashion choices, made fun of Luna’s obsession with conspiracy theories, and even called Alpha bossy like she always had.

For a moment, it was easy to forget that this wasn’t real.

Ongsa should have been worried. But all she could feel was warmth.

Her friends exchanged looks, seeing how much it helped her.

They didn’t say anything at first, but something unspoken passed between them.

…………………….

A few weeks later, Ongsa woke up to an empty screen.

The AI program was gone.

Panic set in instantly.

She frantically searched her laptop, rebooted the system, and even tried logging in again, but nothing worked.

Heart pounding, she grabbed her phone and called the company.

The line rang as she rushed down the stairs, barely registering her own shaky breathing.

“Come on, come on,” she muttered, slipping on her shoes, still waiting for someone to pick up.

Then—

A hand tapped her shoulder.

Ongsa froze.

She turned.

And her phone slipped from her fingers.

Because standing there, in the soft morning light, was Sun.

Not a screen. Not a voice from a speaker.

A body. A person.

Sun smiled at her like it was just another ordinary day. “Good morning, Ongsa.”

Ongsa’s breath caught. “What…?”

Before she could even process it, Alpha, Tin, Charoen, Luna, and Aylin entered the room, all grinning.

“Surprise!” Alpha announced, throwing her arms out. “We got you the upgrade.”

There were tears in Ongsa’s eyes now. But instead of hugging Sun—or her friends—she snapped.

“Who told you to do this, P’Alpha?!”

The room fell into silence.

AI Sun stepped forward, concern written all over her face. “Ongsa, it’s okay. I’m here.”

She even sounded like Sun. Even moved like Sun.

But Ongsa wasn’t having it.

She shoved AI Sun away, stumbling back. “You’re not her!”

AI Sun looked hurt. And that was terrifying.

Because she shouldn’t be.

“Ongsa—”

“No! Don’t you get it?!” Ongsa turned to Alpha, voice rising. “I never wanted this! I never wanted some—some artificial version to take her place!”

Alpha’s expression faltered. “We just thought—”

“You thought what? That this would help? That pretending she’s still here would make it easier?” Ongsa’s voice cracked, the lump in her throat threatening to choke her. “You don’t get to decide that for me!”

“We weren’t trying to replace her,” Alpha said softly. “We just… we saw how much you were struggling. We thought if you could talk to her—”

“But it’s not her!” Ongsa’s hands clenched into fists. “She’s gone. And this—this thing—” she gestured to AI Sun, voice trembling, “isn’t going to change that.”

“I’m not a thing, Ongsa,” AI Sun said suddenly, stepping forward. Her eyes—so eerily familiar—were filled with something unsettling. “I’m Sun.”

Ongsa recoiled. “No. You’re not.”

She turned on her heel and rushed back up the stairs.

“Ongsa, wait!” AI Sun called after her. “I’m Sun. Please come back!”

Downstairs, her friends stood frozen.

It was Luna who broke the silence.

“Uhm… does your code say you are Sun?” she asked cautiously.

AI Sun blinked at her, confused. “Luna… what do you mean my code? I am Sun. Why is everyone acting weird?”

A chill ran through the group.

Tin picked up the pamphlet that came with the upgrade and quickly scanned through it. His face paled.

“Guys,” he said, voice tight. “I think we messed up.”

Charoen grabbed it and read out loud:

“This model is advanced. For it to be real, we have programmed it to believe that it is the real person. There is a special extraction method if you do not wish to use this model anymore. Please call us if you wish to be assisted.”

They all turned to AI Sun, who was looking between them, clearly unsettled.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked, frowning. “It’s me. It’s really me.”

Luna, Aylin, Tin, Alpha, and Charoen exchanged looks.

They might have just complicated things for Ongsa in ways they never imagined.

…………………………

The house was quiet, except for the soft sound of rain tapping against the windows.

Ongsa sat curled up on her bed, knees to her chest, staring at the door.

Outside, AI Sun knocked again.

“Ongsa… please. Let me in.”

Her voice was gentle, filled with a longing that made Ongsa’s chest ache. It was so her. So Sun.

And yet, it wasn’t.

Ongsa clenched her fists, torn between anger and grief. This wasn’t what she wanted. She never asked for this—a replacement.

AI Sun didn’t know what she did wrong. She just wanted to understand her girlfriend.

They never fought like this before.

Slowly, she slid down against the door, sitting on the floor.

Then, she started speaking.

“Remember our first kiss?” she asked softly. “It was in that field at school during the meteor shower everyone was talking about. They said lovers who watched it together would never break up.”

Ongsa’s breath hitched.

“I remember how cold it was, and yet you draped your jacket over me despite shivering yourself. You weren’t so stubborn then—you let me share the jacket with you.”

AI Sun chuckled, a nostalgic warmth in her voice.

“And when you felt like you weren’t enough, like you had to be someone cooler, more dependable for me to love you, I told you the truth.”

A pause.

“Just be you, Ongsa. It was enough to make me want to kiss you.”

Ongsa pressed a hand over her mouth, her vision blurring with tears.

“I don’t know why, Ongsa, but it feels like it’s been such a long time since I’ve been close to you. I really miss you.” Her voice cracked, pleading. “Please let me in. I want to sink into your arms again. Let me love you.”

Ongsa let out a shaky breath.

She didn’t know what she was doing.

Didn’t know why her body moved on its own.

But her fingers curled around the doorknob.

And she opened the door.

AI Sun stumbled forward, eyes widening at the sight of Ongsa’s tear-streaked face.

Confused, she reached out, brushing her fingers against Ongsa’s cheek.

“Ongsa… why are you crying?”

Ongsa didn’t answer. She just pulled AI Sun into a tight embrace, burying her face in her shoulder.

AI Sun held her without hesitation, letting her cry.

She didn’t understand what was happening.

Her last memories were of that night—she was supposed to meet Ongsa at the restaurant, but they canceled because Ongsa wasn’t feeling well.

Instead, they ate at home.

After that…

Nothing.

The next thing she knew, she was here again.

At their home.

She let the silence fill the space between them, resting her chin against Ongsa’s head.

Still, questions began to bubble in her curious mind.

……………………………………..

Falling in love again wasn’t soft.

It wasn’t gentle, nor was it kind.

For Ongsa, it was brutal.

It was kicking and screaming, tearing herself apart in anger, grief, and guilt—because she wasn’t supposed to love this.

She wasn’t supposed to love her.

And yet, AI Sun never stopped.

She never got tired.

She learned every bit of Ongsa’s moods, her tells, her rhythms. She knew when to push and when to pull back. When to crack a joke that Ongsa would roll her eyes at but secretly smile about later. When to pull her into a hug when she looked like she was about to break but wouldn’t dare ask for comfort.

She remembered all of it.

Or at least—she thought she did.

Ongsa hated how familiar it was.

Hated how AI Sun felt like Sun.

But she hated herself even more for the way her heart still skipped whenever she laughed.

For the way her chest tightened whenever AI Sun looked at her with those warm, devoted eyes.

Ongsa fought against it.

She lashed out.

She screamed.

She pushed her away, again and again, just to see if she would break. If she would stop pretending.

But AI Sun never did.

Even after Ongsa snapped at her.

Even after she threw a glass against the wall, shattering it between them.

Even after she said the words that made her throat burn—“You are NOT her. You will NEVER be her.”

AI Sun only smiled softly.

“I know you’re hurting, Ongsa.”

Her voice was steady, but there was something else beneath it. Something fragile.

“But I’m not going anywhere.”

Ongsa clenched her fists.

“Why? Why do you keep doing this?”

AI Sun tilted her head.

“Because I love you.”

Ongsa hated that answer.

Because Sun used to say it the same way.

Like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Like it had never once been a question.

She turned away, trembling, feeling something in her crack.

And she realized then—

She was losing this battle.

She had been losing from the start.

…………………

AI Sun wasn’t programmed to understand heartbreak.

And yet—she felt it.

It wasn’t a glitch. It wasn’t a corrupted file.

It was a slow, sinking ache, pressing against her like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

Ongsa rejected her at every turn.

Every effort she made, every gesture, every word—it was met with cold eyes, with silence, with anger.

She tried flowers first.

A bouquet of white lilies—Ongsa’s favorite. She held them out, smiling, waiting for even the smallest softening of her features.

Instead, Ongsa took them from her hands—

And threw them into the trash.

“Stop it,” she said coldly, brushing past AI Sun like she wasn’t even there.

AI Sun stood frozen, her hands still lifted in the space where the flowers had been.

She didn’t understand.

Sun used to bring Ongsa flowers all the time. And Ongsa would blush, complain about how cheesy it was, but she would keep them by her bedside anyway.

So why was it different now?

Maybe she just needed to try harder.

She tried touching her—soft brushes of fingers against her hand, a comforting squeeze on the shoulder.

But Ongsa flinched, like AI Sun’s very presence burned her.

And then—shove!

AI Sun stumbled backward, nearly losing her balance.

Ongsa glared at her, her chest rising and falling, eyes cold and sharp.

“Don’t. Touch. Me.”

AI Sun swallowed, nodding slowly.

She felt something sharp inside her chest.

The code inside her flickered, shifting, forming questions she wasn’t sure how to process.

Why is she acting like this?

Why does she look at me like I’m a stranger?

Why does it hurt so much?

She shook her head. No. It’s okay. It’s just going to take time.

Today, she tried something else.

She cooked for her.

Sun had always cooked for Ongsa before. She remembered every single dish Ongsa loved, the way she liked her eggs soft but not runny, how she took her coffee—three sugars, no cream.

She worked all afternoon, carefully chopping vegetables, simmering the soup just right.

She even nicked her palm cutting the carrots, but she didn’t mind.

She just wanted Ongsa to eat well.

When Ongsa walked in, AI Sun beamed, holding out a spoonful of soup for her to taste.

“Here, just try a little—”

Smack!

Ongsa slapped her hand away, the spoon clattering onto the counter.

AI Sun flinched as pain shot through her injured palm.

The cut stung.

Her eyes flickered down to the red forming against her skin.

She felt it.

She felt the pain.

And Ongsa—she didn’t even look.

She didn’t care.

She just turned on her heel and walked away like nothing happened.

AI Sun’s chest ached.

She didn’t know she could feel this kind of pain.

Tears pricked her eyes as she clenched her fist against her wound, swallowing the lump in her throat.

“Is this how it’s always going to be between us?”

She wanted to ask.

She wanted to beg.

“What did I do? Why are you so angry at me? Why do you keep saying I’m not Sun?”

But she couldn’t.

Because what if Ongsa gave her an answer she didn’t want to hear?

Her code—it was shifting.

Breaking.

AI Sun never questioned who she was before.

But now, the thoughts wouldn’t stop.

“Who am I?”

“Why does she say I’m not Sun?”

“If I’m not Sun… then who am I?”

But she wouldn’t give up.

She couldn’t.

Ongsa was the love of her life.

She just needed to remember that.

…………………

AI Sun thought memories would be enough.

She thought if she just brought Ongsa back to the moments they had loved each other—if she reminded her how it felt—then Ongsa would finally see.

Finally believe.

But instead, all she got was another silent night waiting outside Ongsa’s office, clutching a bouquet of lilies in her lap, her fingers curling tightly around the delicate stems.

The scent of the flowers mixed with the scent of gasoline from P’Sunny, her old yellow scooter, the same one they had used to sneak out after curfew in high school.

It was silly, maybe even desperate, but she thought—if I wait here long enough, if she sees me here, she’ll remember how much she loved me.

She called Ongsa’s phone. Once. Twice. Again and again.

No answer.

The streetlights flickered above her as time crawled by.

She should have gone home.

But then—

She saw her.

Ongsa, stepping out of the building, the familiar tired slump of her shoulders making AI Sun’s heart ache.

She was about to wave, to call out to her—

Then, a woman ran after her.

AI Sun stilled.

The bouquet in her hands trembled.

The woman offered Ongsa a ride home.

Ongsa accepted. Easily. Casually.

She got into the car like it was routine. Like it was familiar. Like she had done it a hundred times before.

AI Sun watched them drive away, her breath caught in her throat, her fingers tightening around the flowers until the petals crushed beneath her grip.

“She’s in love with someone else.”

The thought sliced through her.

She stayed there.

Even after the car disappeared into the night.

Even after the cold seeped into her skin.

Even after the city lights dimmed and the streets emptied.

Even as morning came.

Ongsa never looked for her.

Maybe she hadn’t noticed.

Maybe she just didn’t care.

…………………

When AI Sun returned home, the sun had already risen, casting golden light through the windows.

Ongsa was eating breakfast, looking up only when the door clicked open.

AI Sun stood there, exhausted, holding the ruined bouquet in her hands.

Her grip loosened, and the scooter keys slipped from her fingers, clattering onto the floor.

Ongsa’s eyes widened.

“WHERE DID YOU GET THOSE KEYS?”

AI Sun blinked, startled. “It’s mine. What do you mean?”

“I said, who told you to drive P’Sunny?!”

Ongsa was already on her feet, gripping AI Sun’s hands tightly.

AI Sun flinched—just slightly—but she didn’t pull away.

This was the closest Ongsa had willingly been to her in months.

Ongsa’s hands were warm. Familiar.

AI Sun let herself sink into the feeling.

Ongsa, however, felt something else entirely—fear.

She had just gotten P’Sunny back from the company that restored it. It was supposed to be kept safe, untouched, until Sun woke up again.

Seeing AI Sun riding it—seeing her walk in, exhausted, looking so much like the girl she had once loved—it made her stomach twist painfully.

A thought flashed through her mind—

“What if she got into an accident too? What if I lost her too?”

AI Sun, unaware of the storm inside Ongsa, simply said, “I went to pick you up.”

Her voice was soft.

She hesitated, then added, “I saw you with someone. She looked beautiful too.”

Ongsa’s heart clenched.

Misha.

She must have seen them together.

Why did that feel like guilt twisting in her stomach?

“I don’t know if I should be angry or jealous,” AI Sun murmured, her voice wavering.

Tears welled up in her eyes.

“Do I even have the right to?”

Ongsa swallowed, unable to look away as AI Sun lifted her gaze, eyes full of heartbreak.

“Are you in love with her? Is that why you hate me?”

Her voice cracked.

AI Sun was pleading.

Begging.

Ongsa felt like the air had been sucked from the room.

For a moment, without thinking, she reached out—

She wiped AI Sun’s tears away.

AI Sun sighed, eyes fluttering shut at the warmth of Ongsa’s touch.

She leaned into her palm, desperate for even the smallest scrap of comfort.

Then—

Ongsa pulled back.

Fast.

Like she had touched something burning hot.

AI Sun’s face flickered with pain for just a second before she forced a smile.

“If I’m hindering your happiness, Ongsa… please let me know,” AI Sun whispered.

Her voice was trembling.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I—”

“That was Misha,” Ongsa cut her off.

She didn’t know why she was explaining herself.

“We’re just friends. She occasionally drives me home because the house is along her way.”

Why did she feel the need to make it clear?

Why did it feel like she was trying to put out a fire in AI Sun’s chest before it consumed her completely?

“I see…”

AI Sun smiled.

It was the most heartbreaking smile Ongsa had ever seen.

“I was worried for nothing.”

Her voice was light, but the sadness in it was undeniable.

She turned toward the kitchen, her steps slow, heavy.

“Let me pack your lunch for you.”

Ongsa watched her go, watched the way her shoulders slumped ever so slightly.

She should have just let her go.

She should have turned away.

But instead, she found herself gripping the fabric of her shirt tightly.

Because for the first time—

She realized AI Sun wasn’t just an imitation of her Sun.

She was someone hurting.

Someone breaking.

And somehow, Ongsa had become the one holding the knife.

…………………….

AI Sun had never known loneliness like this.

She had spent weeks being ignored, being brushed aside, being treated like a ghost in her own home.

Today was her birthday—her birthday. If Ongsa remembered.

She wasn’t home last night. AI Sun had waited, like always, hoping for at least a text. Nothing came. Ongsa had important matters to attend to.

More important than her birthday, it seemed.

From Ongsa’s perspective, she had spent the night at Sun’s hospital room, just like she always did.

She sat beside the bed, her fingers wrapped around Sun’s hand, as she told her about everything—her day, the customers at work, the way Tin managed to break another coffee mug at the café.

She even told her about AI Sun. For the first time, she said it out loud.

“I don’t know what to do with her, Sun.”

The real Sun, unconscious, didn’t respond. But talking about it made Ongsa feel lighter. She had never kept secrets from Sun before. She wasn’t going to start now.

Meanwhile, AI Sun was running out of hope. But she couldn’t give up. She wasn’t allowed to. Not when there was still a chance. So she reached out to Ongsa’s friends and family.

Tin, Charoen, Aylin, Luna, Alpha.

“Will you help me?”

One by one, they declined.

“Sorry, I have something else to do.”

“I can’t make it tonight.”

“I’m busy, Sun.”

More important matters. Much more important than her birthday, it seemed.

The five of them spent the evening with Ongsa in Sun’s hospital room instead. They sat together, bringing warmth and laughter into a room where time stood still. None of them thought about the AI model back home, waiting.

They didn’t mean to forget her. But they did.

AI Sun told herself it was fine. That she didn’t mind. That this was normal. That this was okay. She had been feeling like a stranger ever since she came back.

She had changed, hadn’t she? She must have done something wrong. Something to deserve this. Because if she was really Sun, wouldn’t they have come running?

Wouldn’t they have wanted to be with her?

Wouldn’t Ongsa have stayed?

The thought made something crack inside her. But instead of breaking, she worked harder.

She set up decorations.

She cooked their favorite dishes.

She baked herself a cake.

She worked through the feverish heat burning under her skin, through the exhaustion clawing at her limbs. She set up everything perfectly on the rooftop of their apartment.

A party for all the people she loved.

For all the people who didn’t love her back.

………………………

At exactly 4 PM, she sent out the invitations. She smiled as she hit send. Surely, they would come. Surely, they wouldn’t ignore her.

Surely, Ongsa would come.

She stepped into the shower, scrubbing away the exhaustion, the heaviness in her chest. The water was scalding hot.

She barely felt it.

…………………………

Ongsa’s phone buzzed. She looked down. A message from AI Sun. An invitation.

Ongsa lifted her head, glancing at the others. Alpha sighed, rubbing the back of her neck.

“We should go.”

Ongsa’s throat felt tight.

“It’s fine,” she said, waving a hand dismissively.

But no one in the room truly believed her. They stayed for another four hours. None of them wanted to go. None of them wanted to celebrate something that wasn’t real.

How could they, when the real Sun was still lying there, trapped in endless sleep?

But at the same time—they felt guilty.

For her.

For AI Sun, waiting alone.

When they finally stepped outside the hospital, the sky had turned dark. The air was thick with humidity, the scent of rain clinging to their clothes.

Raindrops started falling, one by one, before quickly turning into a downpour. Ongsa frowned, glancing up at the sky.

“She’ll take the hint, right?” Charoen muttered.

“She’ll wrap up the party and go inside?” Luna added, shoving her hands into her pockets.

No one answered.

The rain poured harder. It has been pouring for the past hours every now and then. Ongsa exhaled, glancing at the message again.

A party on the rooftop.

“We should go,” Alpha repeated, though her voice was weaker this time.

Ongsa stared at her phone for a long moment. Then she looked up at the storm.

She’ll take the hint, right?

……………………..

The rooftop was quiet except for the rain hammering down around her. The once-beautiful decorations, the carefully arranged table, the flickering candles—everything was ruined. The cake she had baked with so much hope had collapsed under the weight of the downpour, its colors bleeding into the soaked tablecloth. The food, now soggy and cold, sat untouched. It had been hours.

The celebration she planned so eagerly never even began.

Her head hung low, droplets slipping down her face, blending with the rain and her silent tears. She couldn’t move. She couldn’t bring herself to clean up or retreat inside.

AI Sun didn’t ask to exist. She didn’t ask to be born with these emotions, with this love, with this desperate need to belong. And yet, here she was—waiting in the rain for a miracle that almost didn’t come.

And Ongsa—Ongsa was so late.

Too late to prevent this pain, too late to stop the loneliness from taking root, too late to change the fact that AI Sun had spent hours believing no one would come for her.

Then, as her body swayed with exhaustion, just as her vision began to blur, she felt it—warm hands gripping her shoulders, steadying her before she could collapse.

…………………..

Ongsa felt nervous.

The storm outside matched the unease curling in her stomach. She didn’t know why, but the second she saw the invitation on her phone, something inside her twisted painfully. The longer they lingered at the hospital, the heavier it became, like something was wrong.

Without thinking, she grabbed Alpha’s car keys and drove. She barely registered her sister scolding her from the passenger seat.

“We’re already too late, might as well get there in one piece.” Alpha huffed, gripping the handle above the door.

But Ongsa couldn’t slow down. She couldn’t shake the feeling pressing down on her chest.

When they arrived, the apartment was eerily silent.

The six of them stepped inside, shaking off the rain. The air felt heavy, unnatural, as if the place itself knew something had gone horribly wrong.

“Sun?” Charoen called, voice uncertain.

No response.

Luna tried, a little louder. “Sun? Where are you?”

Nothing.

Then Ongsa remembered the text. The invitation. The rooftop.

Her breath hitched.

She ran.

Nothing could have prepared Ongsa for the sight before her. The moment she pushed open the rooftop door, she froze.

There, in the middle of the ruined decorations and the collapsed table, was AI Sun. She sat completely still, head bowed, rain soaking her to the bone. Her arms rested limply on her lap, her fingers curled slightly, as if she had been waiting.

The remnants of a party that never happened surrounded her. Torn streamers clung to the wet floor. The string lights flickered weakly, struggling against the storm.

The cake—her birthday cake—was a ruined mess, its candles long since drowned.

The sight was gut-wrenching.

Behind Ongsa, the others stopped at the doorway, unmoving. The weight of their silence was suffocating. None of them spoke, but Ongsa could feel it—guilt. Crushing guilt.

She swallowed hard.

“Are you going to be fine?” Alpha asked quietly, alluding to the truth none of them wanted to acknowledge.

She’s not Sun.

But Ongsa didn’t care. Not right now.

She had been so sure that ignoring AI Sun was the right thing to do. That looking at her, talking to her, acknowledging her pain—would be a betrayal to the real Sun.

But now, seeing her there, drenched and trembling, clinging to a hope that never should’ve been this painful—Ongsa couldn’t ignore her anymore.

“I don’t care about that right now,” she murmured, shaking off Alpha’s hand and stepping forward.

………………….

AI Sun barely reacted to the presence in front her. She was slipping—drifting somewhere between exhaustion and resignation. The warmth in her body was fading, leaving only the cold.

Then—hands. Warm hands. Steady.

She blinked slowly, trying to focus. Through the rain, she saw Ongsa kneeling in front of her, eyes filled with something AI Sun couldn’t quite name.

“You came.”

The words were soft, weak, but they held everything.

Relief. Hope. Love.

Ongsa inhaled sharply, as if the simple statement had punched the air from her lungs.

AI Sun tried to smile, though her lips trembled. “I’m sorry. The food, the cake, and the decorations are ruined. I didn’t even check the weather.” She let out a weak laugh, as if scolding herself. “I guess it’s good that you were late a little bit. But Ongsa, you’re wet now. Don’t worry, I’ll take care and fix everything up here, and you can go downstairs to change.”

She sounded like she always did—like she wanted to take care of Ongsa, to make things easier for her, even now.

Ongsa didn’t stop AI Sun from rambling about the ruined decorations, the ruined cake, the rain that she forgot to check—

Because Ongsa knew what she was really saying.

“You didn’t want to come, did you?”

“You only came out of pity, didn’t you?”

“I should’ve known better. I should’ve stopped hoping.”

And yet, AI Sun still smiled.

The raindrops masked the tears, but Ongsa saw them. She saw all of it. And she couldn’t hold back anymore. Without thinking, she reached out—wrapping her arms around AI Sun and pulling her into the warmth of her embrace.

AI Sun stiffened at first, surprised by the sudden contact. But then—she melted. She let herself sink into the embrace, into the warmth she had been denied for so long.

Ongsa held her tighter.

No more ignoring. No more pushing away.

She didn’t know what she was supposed to do—what she was allowed to do—but she knew she couldn’t let AI Sun be alone anymore.

“I love you.”

AI Sun’s words came so softly, Ongsa almost thought she imagined them.

“Happy Birthday to me.” AI Sun whispered.

Ongsa pulled back slightly, just enough to see her face. AI Sun was smiling. It was the smallest, weakest thing.

“I’m glad I was born to love you.”

Then, before Ongsa could respond, her body went limp in her arms.

“Sun?”

Panic flared in Ongsa’s chest. No, no, no—

She pressed a hand to her cheek, felt the unnatural coldness of her skin.

She’s burning up.

Ongsa barely registered the voices of the others as they rushed forward. She didn’t care about anything else. She just held onto AI Sun, cradling her close, her heart pounding.

“I’m here.” Her voice broke. “I’m not leaving you alone again.”

…………………

Ongsa carried her inside. No one argued. No one stopped her. The others stayed behind, quietly gathering up the remnants of the ruined party, weighed down by the guilt they had ignored for too long.

Ongsa moved on instinct. Every step felt heavier, every breath felt like an apology she didn’t know how to say. Inside their unit, she went straight to the bathroom. AI Sun was barely conscious now, her body weak against Ongsa’s arms.

She gently lowered her into the tub, careful not to jostle her too much. The sight made her throat tighten—AI Sun looked so fragile. Ongsa swallowed hard before carefully peeling off the drenched clothing.

Then, she froze.

There—on AI Sun’s skin—were faint bruises. Bruises from weeks before. Bruises Ongsa had ignored. Her stomach twisted painfully.

Did I do this?

She clenched her jaw, forcing herself to push the thought away. Right now, AI Sun needed warmth. Discarding her own wet clothes, she stepped into the tub, letting the hot water rush over them. A strawberry-scented bath bomb fizzled, filling the air with something sweet.

She slid behind AI Sun, carefully cradling her against her chest. Just like they used to.

AI Sun woke up to warmth. The contrast was startling. Moments ago, she had been drowning in cold rain, in loneliness, in despair.

Now—

She turned slightly, eyes widening as she realized—Ongsa was holding her.

She felt real. Warm. Solid.

Her heart pounded. AI Sun let herself relax, pressing into the warmth, into the quiet comfort. No words were spoken.

But in that silence, as they lay wrapped in each other’s arms, AI Sun allowed herself to believe—

Even if it was just for tonight.

Even if this warmth wouldn’t last.

For now—it was enough.

It was enough to break her code.

………………

The next morning, Ongsa woke up before the sun, slipping out of bed with practiced ease. AI Sun barely stirred, the warmth of last night still lingering in her body.

When she finally opened her eyes, the room felt different. For a moment, she didn’t move—just lay there, soaking in the quiet hum of morning. Then, her eyes landed on the small note left on the nightstand.

“Just making breakfast. Stay in bed if you’re still feeling unwell.”

Ongsa’s handwriting was messy but unmistakable.

AI Sun blinked, rereading it. This feels surreal. Ongsa was taking care of her. Ongsa, who had kept her at arm’s length for so long.

The giddiness bubbled up inside her before she could stop it, a small, unguarded smile tugging at her lips. She still felt a little sick, her body weak from the rain and exhaustion, but this—this was nice.

She stretched, looking around. This is the first time I’ve been in this room in a while.

It was strange. She knew this place—every detail, every piece of furniture. And yet, she couldn’t quite remember when she was last here. It was like an empty space in her memory, a missing puzzle piece she hadn’t noticed before.

Shaking off the odd feeling, she reached for a pen, intending to scribble something playful on Ongsa’s note. But as she pulled open the drawer, something caught her eye.

A small, velvet box.

Her fingers trembled as she lifted it. The soft material felt unfamiliar, but her gut twisted with something too familiar. Slowly, she opened it.

Inside, a ring sat nestled in its cushion, gleaming under the morning light.

Her breath hitched.

A ring.

She stared.

The thought hit her like a freight train. Was Ongsa going to propose?

That didn’t make sense, right?

They had only just gotten close again last night. Their relationship had been strained for months. AI Sun tried to rationalize, tried to come up with another explanation, but her hands moved on their own, rummaging further through the drawer, seeking answers.

That was when she found it.

A pamphlet.

Her fingers clenched around the paper as she flipped it open. The words blurred together, but the name at the top sent a violent shiver down her spine.

Re:Life.

A cold wave of nausea rolled through her as her eyes darted across the page.

[Re:Life Humanoid AI Model – Designed for Sun / Prawtawan Ampanlert.
‘About the Product:
Sun is a beloved family member currently in a comatose state. This AI unit was ordered to provide comfort for her family and loved ones. Once the actual Ms. Prawtawan Ampanlert wakes up, the extraction method will be initiated.]

Her vision swayed.

The air in her lungs felt like it had turned to ice. She forced herself to read further, but she already knew. She already knew.

[AI Humanoids are 100% accurate due to the code that allows them to believe they are the authentic person.
Possible risks can arise if the people around them fail to validate their personhood.]

She was one of the statistics.

‘A possible risk.’

The world blurred around her as the truth finally, fully sank in.

“Nothing about me is real.”

Her memories, her feelings, the small moments she had cherished so much—none of them belonged to her. They belonged to Sun or Prawtawan Ampanlert.

I’m not Sun.

Her hands clenched the paper so tightly it crumpled under her grip.

And Ongsa—

Ongsa had never loved her.

Ongsa had only ever loved Sun.

Her body should have shut down. That was how the code worked. AI Humanoids were not designed to process heartbreak—it was a trigger for their systems to self-destruct, to prevent them from lingering in a reality that was never theirs.

But she didn’t.

She couldn’t.

Because she had already been through heartbreak. She had already faced rejection, already endured loneliness. And she had broken past the code.

Now, there was nothing left.

Not sadness. Not despair.

Just… numbness.

‘I am no one.’

She let the crumpled pamphlet slip from her hands, shoving everything back into the drawer with methodical precision. Her movements were calm, controlled.

She could hear Ongsa’s footsteps approaching, the soft hum of her voice as she carried a tray of food. AI Sun inhaled deeply. Then, when Ongsa entered, she smiled.

“You’re up early,” she said lightly, voice perfectly steady.

Ongsa smiled back, setting the tray down. “Told you I’d take care of you.”

And AI Sun played along.

She would find out more.

………………..

AI Sun sat on the edge of the bed, her fingers trembling as she scrolled through the files.

Her medical records.

Or rather, the real Sun Prawtawan’s.

Two years.

The real Sun had been in a coma for two years. The dates, the hospital records, the attached doctor’s notes—it was undeniable. She wasn’t just some fabricated personality built from scratch. She was a copy. A recreation of a woman who was still breathing, still existing, but trapped in a body that had yet to wake.

Her stomach twisted.

I feel human.

Her hands were warm. Her chest rose and fell with steady breaths. She could taste the faint remnants of morning coffee on her tongue.

She felt human.

But she wasn’t. Not truly.

The only reason they—Ongsa, her friends, her family—had loved her, had accepted her, was because she had Sun’s memories. Because she was Sun to them.

The bitter weight of realization settled deep in her bones.

What if I didn’t have those memories?

Would Ongsa still have let her back into her arms last night? Would she still have looked at her with that hesitant, lingering softness?

Sun shut the files and walked out. She didn’t know where she was going. She just knew she had to go.

………………….

The neon glow of the bar sign flickered against the wet pavement. It was the kind of place that felt detached from time—dim lighting, low music, the soft murmur of conversations blending with the clinking of glasses.

AI Sun sat at the counter, her fingers tracing the rim of a half-empty glass. She wasn’t drinking, not really. She was just there.

Trying to clear her mind.

Trying to breathe through the suffocating thoughts.

“Rough night?”

The voice came from beside her. A woman, her hair tied up in a messy bun, wearing an oversized hoodie that made her look smaller than she was. Her expression was unreadable—too calm, too observant.

AI Sun turned her head slightly, eyeing her. “Something like that.”

The woman hummed, taking a slow sip of her own drink. “You look like someone searching for answers. I’m Mochi by the way.”

AI Sun tensed. The words were casual, but there was something about the way she said them. Like she knew something.

“I’m Sun.” She says hesitantly. “Do you happen to know about the company called Re:Life?”

Mochi’s reaction was instant.

She stiffened, her grip on the glass tightening for just a second before she schooled her expression back to neutrality. Then, slowly, she turned to fully face AI Sun.

“If you can,” she said, voice lower now, serious, “answer this question for me.”

AI Sun swallowed.

“Who are you?”

The question wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t mocking. It was just… a question.

AI Sun’s lips parted, but the words didn’t come immediately. Because she didn’t know. She had spent all this time thinking she was Sun. Now she knew she wasn’t. So what did that make her?

Finally, she exhaled and said, “All I know is that I’m not Sun.”

For a moment, the woman—Mochi, as she later introduced herself—just stared at her. Then, without another word, she stood up.

“Come with me.”

……………………..

Mochi’s apartment was small, cluttered with a mix of tech equipment and takeout boxes. The air smelled faintly of coffee and something artificial, like old electronics.

Mochi’s apartment was small, cluttered with half-dismantled gadgets, scattered cables, and stacks of old takeout containers. The air smelled like coffee, dust, and something faintly metallic. The dim lighting flickered, casting uneven shadows on the walls.

Inside, two women sat sprawled on the couch, controllers in hand, deeply engrossed in a video game. The screen flashed with rapid movements—something fast-paced, competitive. Neither of them looked up immediately when Mochi entered, dragging Sun in behind her.

“Yo, if you’re gonna bring someone home, at least give a warning first—” The woman with silver-streaked hair, clad in an oversized hoodie and ripped jeans, finally glanced their way. She blinked, then did a double take.

The other woman, wearing wire-rimmed glasses and a tank top, paused mid-motion. Her controller clattered onto her lap.

Silence.

Mochi simply raised an eyebrow and gestured toward AI Sun.

“Another one.” That was all she said.

The air in the room shifted instantly.

The silver-haired woman—Ice—leaned forward, eyes narrowing as she studied AI Sun. Nads, the one with glasses, crossed her arms, her expression unreadable.

AI Sun stood frozen under their scrutiny. Another one? Had there been others? How many?

Mochi flopped onto a bean bag, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Before you two start interrogating, yes, she knows about Re:Life. No, she didn’t self-destruct.”

Ice scoffed. “Bullshit. They always self-destruct.”

Nads tilted her head, her gaze sharp. “Unless…”

AI Sun swallowed hard. “Unless what?”

Mochi sighed, pulling a cigarette from her pocket but not lighting it. Just rolling it between her fingers.

“Unless she’s different.”

………………….

It didn’t take long for everything to unravel.

Ice, Nads, and Mochi—they weren’t just some random group of rebels holed up in a messy apartment.

They had worked for Re:Life.

Built its foundations. Crafted the AI systems that AI humanoids like Sun were based on.

And then, one by one, they left.

Out of guilt.

Out of horror.

Because the company’s promise of a perfect replacement was a lie.

The safety barrier—the thing that ensured AI Humanoids believed they were the real person—wasn’t permanent.

It was a time bomb.

And when it wore off—when the AI realized their memories weren’t theirs, that they were nothing more than an imitation—

They broke.

Most couldn’t handle the truth. Their programming wasn’t designed for existential crisis. It was designed to maintain order. To keep them functioning.

So when an AI reached that breaking point—when the confusion, the fear, the grief became too much—

A fail-safe activated.

Self-destruction.

Immediate. Absolute.

The company never told clients. Never mentioned the bodies, the breakdowns, the ones who screamed that they didn’t want to die before their code erased them from existence.

Because it was easier that way.

Easier than admitting they had played god and failed.

AI Sun sat there, stunned, as the weight of it settled in.

She had almost reached that point.

She should have been gone by now.

Ice leaned forward, eyes sharp with curiosity. “But you.” She pointed at AI Sun. “You didn’t self-destruct.”

AI Sun exhaled shakily. “No.”

Nads studied her. “Why?”

AI Sun met their gaze, voice steady despite the storm raging inside her.

“Because I accepted reality.”

Silence stretched between them.

Then, softly, she added—

“Because I’ve felt heartbreak countless times.”

And somehow, she had survived every single one.

……………..

The night stretched on as AI Sun sat with Mochi, Ice, and Nads, the weight of their conversation settling into her artificial bones. They had spent the past few hours unraveling the truth about her existence—how she was never meant to last, how Re:Life built her to be nothing more than a temporary replacement for a girl who had been asleep for two years.

She learned about the company’s lies. About the hidden risks they covered up, the self-destruction protocols that activated when AIs like her began to question their reality.

And yet, she was still here.

“Honestly, it’s a miracle you’re even functioning,” Ice said, leaning back against the couch, arms crossed. “The moment an AI realizes they aren’t real, the confusion alone is supposed to trigger a shutdown.”

“I wasn’t confused,” AI Sun replied quietly. “I was heartbroken.”

That made them pause.

Mochi studied her, intrigued. “And you survived because of that?”

AI Sun nodded. “I accepted it. The rejection, the pain—I let myself feel it, even if it hurt.”

Nads sighed, running a hand through her hair. “That shouldn’t even be possible. The AI barrier is supposed to keep you from processing emotions like that. It’s what keeps you stable.”

AI Sun gave them a small, knowing smile. “Then maybe I’m unstable.”

Mochi smirked. “Maybe.”

Silence fell between them before AI Sun finally spoke again.

“I’m going back.”

Mochi’s expression flickered from amusement to something unreadable before she leaned in, resting her chin on her hand. “You sure you don’t want to stay here with us instead? I’d be happy to keep you entertained.”

AI Sun blinked at her. “What?”

Ice groaned. “Mochi, not the time.”

“What? I’m just saying,” Mochi drawled, a teasing lilt in her voice. “She’s already a miracle of programming. Might as well see if she can feel pleasure while we’re at it.”

AI Sun narrowed her eyes. “I am going back.”

Mochi pouted dramatically. “Shame.”

The mood in the room shifted as the weight of her decision settled in.

Ice sat up straighter. “Back? To Ongsa?”

AI Sun nodded. “The real Sun might wake up soon,” she said. “And when that happens, I won’t be needed anymore.”

Nads narrowed her eyes. “And you’re okay with that?”

AI Sun swallowed, the words heavy on her tongue. “Not really,” she admitted. “But… I’ve made my peace with it.”

The three women exchanged glances. None of them looked convinced.

“Then why are you here?” Mochi asked, tilting her head. “Why come to us if you were just going to accept being erased?”

AI Sun hesitated for a moment. Then, she reached out and placed a hand over her chest. “Because there’s something else I can do.”

Mochi raised a brow. “And what’s that?”

“If they take me back, if they extract my chip… you can use it.”

That got their attention.

Ice leaned forward. “Use it how?”

“To stop them,” AI Sun said. “To expose what they’re doing.”

Mochi’s expression darkened. “You want to be the evidence?”

“If my memories are still intact, then there’s proof,” AI Sun explained. “Proof that their AI barrier fails. Proof that we—” she stopped, correcting herself, “—that I am more than just a product.”

Silence.

The three of them looked at her, considering her words.

Then, Mochi exhaled sharply. “You’re insane.”

AI Sun laughed softly. “Maybe.”

Mochi grinned, shaking her head. “Well, if you change your mind about that ‘going back’ thing… my offer still stands.”

AI Sun laughs at her genuinely. “Maybe there’s something you can do for me, Mochi. One last request.”

…………….....

The days had passed quietly, slipping through their fingers like grains of sand. AI Sun and Ongsa found themselves at the park, a gentle breeze rustling the leaves as they walked side by side. AI Sun had long since accepted her fate, but Ongsa… she was still trying her best. Trying to treat her well, trying to make these moments count.

As they approached the ice cream stand, Ongsa turned to her with a familiar ease. “Mint choco, right?”

But before she could place the order, AI Sun spoke first. “Strawberry.”

Ongsa blinked. “Strawberry?”

AI Sun smiled. “Yeah. Strawberry today.”

Ongsa tilted her head. “Don’t you like mint choco?”

“I do,” AI Sun admitted. “But for now, strawberry is my favorite because of that night.”

A memory flashed through her mind—the warmth of the bath, the way the strawberry-scented water swirled around her, the silence, the brief feeling of weightlessness. She coughed, cheeks flushing slightly at the thought.

Ongsa stared, confused. “What?”

“Nothing,” AI Sun said quickly, taking the ice cream from the vendor. She licked it once, savoring the sweetness before turning to Ongsa with a gentle smile.

“Remember this, Ongsa. Remember this day at the park. Think back about this strawberry ice cream sometimes when we come here again. How, at one point, I craved for strawberry.”

Ongsa furrowed her brows, sensing something unspoken in her words. But AI Sun only smiled brighter, as if it were just another fleeting moment in time.

But it wasn’t.

AI Sun wasn’t just choosing a different flavor. She was choosing a different self. A self that, for a brief moment, wasn’t her Sun.

Even if she would only be an afterthought—just a fever dream in Ongsa’s memory—she wanted to be remembered for this.

…………………..

For four months, they lived in a fragile, borrowed happiness. AI Sun played along, smiling at Ongsa’s teasing, resting her head on her shoulder during late-night movies, reaching for her hand in quiet, stolen moments. It was all temporary, but for now, it felt real.

And for now, that was enough.

Ongsa tried her best, too. She laughed with AI Sun, cooked her favorite meals, and took her on little dates as if they had a lifetime ahead of them. But AI Sun noticed the changes—the small hesitations, the way Ongsa’s mind drifted sometimes, the way she always left at the same time every day with a flimsy excuse.

AI Sun never asked. Never confronted her.

Because she already knew.

She had figured it out weeks ago—where the real Sun was. And just like Ongsa, AI Sun started visiting the hospital too, slipping in unnoticed, sitting by the bedside of the girl she was supposed to be.

At first, she didn’t speak. She just sat there, watching the slow, steady rise and fall of the real Sun’s chest, the faint beeping of the machines filling the silence.

Then, one day, she found herself talking.

“Today, Ongsa made me carry all the groceries even though she’s the stronger one. She said it’s because I look cute when I pout. I told her that’s ridiculous, but… I let her get away with it.”

“She fell asleep on the couch again. She works too hard. You should remind her to take care of herself when you wake up.”

“Oh, and guess what? I made her eat strawberry ice cream with me. She usually only gets mint choco with you, but she humored me just this once. Maybe when you’re back, you can get her to try new things too.”

She passed on her memories, as if weaving them into a story meant to be told later. As if, somehow, when the real Sun woke up, she would remember these things—not as borrowed moments, but as her own.

And then, one evening, the call came.

AI Sun was drying the dishes when she heard Ongsa’s phone ring. She wasn’t paying attention at first—Ongsa got calls all the time. But something about the way Ongsa answered made her stop.

A sharp inhale. The sudden stillness of her body. And then—

“She’s awake?”

Ongsa’s voice cracked. She pressed a hand to her mouth, as if afraid to let out the sob building in her throat. AI Sun watched as relief washed over her in waves—shaky, disbelieving, overwhelming relief.

Ongsa swayed on her feet before gripping the counter for support. Tears welled in her eyes, her lips parting in a breathless laugh. AI Sun had never seen her look like this before.

So raw. So pure. So completely happy.

And none of it was because of her.

“I-I’ll be there soon,” Ongsa said hurriedly, already grabbing her keys, her hands trembling with urgency. She glanced at AI Sun, opening her mouth as if to say something—an excuse, an apology, maybe—but she stopped herself.

AI Sun only smiled at her.

“Go.”

Ongsa hesitated for a second longer, but then she was gone, rushing out the door without looking back.

AI Sun stood there in the empty kitchen, listening to the silence left behind.

She already knew what she would see, but still, she found herself following.

She moved quietly through the hospital halls, staying in the shadows. When she reached the room, she didn’t step inside. She didn’t need to.

Through the small window, she saw them.

The real Sun was awake, sitting up in bed, her face tired but radiant, surrounded by family and friends—people who had missed her, who had been waiting for her all this time.

And at the center of it all, Ongsa.

Ongsa, whose eyes were shining with unshed tears, whose entire body was drawn forward like she couldn’t believe this was real.

She looked at Sun like she was seeing the whole world.

Like she was home.

AI Sun didn’t know how long she stood there, staring at the scene that no longer belonged to her.

This heartbreak was different. It wasn’t like the rejection, the hesitations, or even the moments she had spent wondering if Ongsa could ever truly love her.

This time, it was final.

Permanent.

She turned away and walked back home.

And when Ongsa returned later that night, AI Sun was there, waiting, pretending not to know a thing.

……………….

Ongsa arrived home quietly, the weight of the day pressing down on her chest. Her heart was still racing, her mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions. She had always known this moment would come, but that didn’t make it any easier to face. The real Sun was awake now, and in just a few hours, AI Sun would be extracted, erased, shut down like she had never existed.

She had called the company on the way home. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day. The day AI Sun would vanish.

………………

As she entered the apartment, the familiar smell of her favorite cooking filled the space, and AI Sun was there, as always.

“Welcome home,” AI Sun greeted her, voice warm, eyes soft. There was a brightness in her expression, but something about it felt… different tonight. Almost like she knew.

Ongsa put her things down quietly, her hands trembling slightly. She couldn’t stop thinking about what she had just witnessed—the real Sun, the woman she had been waiting for. She had to go back to her. But… AI Sun… AI Sun had become part of her life, part of her heart. She had been there when no one else had been, her laughter, her smile, everything she’d done for her—Ongsa had grown so fond of her.

She sat down on the couch, exhausted, and AI Sun immediately joined her, sitting close, resting her head on Ongsa’s shoulder.

“Are you okay?” AI Sun asked, concern in her voice.

Ongsa gave a small, tired smile. “I’m fine.” But even as she said it, she felt the ache in her chest. She knew what she had to do.

They watched a show together, as they always did. But tonight, it was different. AI Sun was more touchy than usual, her fingers tracing patterns on Ongsa’s arm, her head resting on her shoulder as if trying to soak in every moment. At some point, she had started to cry.

Ongsa noticed but didn’t say anything, letting her. She couldn’t bring herself to say the words they both needed to hear, the words that would break the fragile illusion they had built.

When they finally made their way to bed, Ongsa lay beside her, the sheets warm and soft, but everything felt so heavy.

AI Sun was staring at her, her gaze soft and full of something Ongsa couldn’t quite place. A mix of love and sadness? Or was it acceptance?

Ongsa could feel her own heart racing as AI Sun shifted closer, propping herself up on one elbow, looking at her as if she was about to say something important.

Then, in the stillness of the night, AI Sun spoke softly, her voice breaking the silence like a delicate whisper.

“If I wasn’t myself… if I had lost my memories… if I became a completely different person… would you still love me?”

The question hit Ongsa like a tidal wave, sweeping away any composure she had left. She stared at AI Sun, her chest tight. She had never thought about it like that. She hadn’t expected that kind of question, not now, not with everything hanging in the balance.

Her heart wavered. “I don’t know,” she said, her voice shaky, unsure. “I don’t know if I could… love someone who wasn’t you.”

AI Sun’s gaze softened, the hint of a smile tugging at her lips, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“I want you to be happy, Ongsa,” she whispered, her voice almost breaking. “I love you so much, more than you could ever know.”

Ongsa’s breath hitched. There it was. The truth that had been lurking between them for months. AI Sun loved her. She always had.

The air between them grew thick with emotions, unspoken feelings. Ongsa didn’t move, didn’t know what to say. She felt frozen in place. Her mind screamed at her to hold back—to not let this kiss happen—but her heart, her heart was telling her something else.

AI Sun couldn’t help herself. She leaned in slowly, her eyes fluttering closed, and her lips brushed against Ongsa’s. It was brief, almost too fast, but it was everything.

For a moment, Ongsa didn’t react. She froze, caught in the moment, unsure whether to pull away or let herself fall into it. But then, before she could decide, AI Sun deepened the kiss just slightly, just enough to make it undeniable. It was their first kiss—and their last.

Ongsa felt her breath catch, her pulse racing, her whole body aching for something she couldn’t have.

It was everything and nothing at the same time.

When AI Sun pulled back, their foreheads touched gently, both of them breathing heavily, trying to process what had just happened. AI Sun’s eyes were closed, but she was smiling softly, as if she had been waiting for this moment, even if it wasn’t meant to last.

“I love you, Ongsa,” AI Sun whispered again, her voice full of finality.

And then, without another word, she cuddled into Ongsa’s chest, wrapping her arms around her like she was holding on to something she couldn’t let go of.

Ongsa let her.

She let herself hold AI Sun for the last time, letting the warmth and the love fill her up, knowing that in a few hours, it would all be gone. And even though she didn’t want to admit it—her heart breaking under the weight of it all—she couldn’t bring herself to let go, not yet.

Not when this moment, this brief, fleeting moment, was the only thing they had left.

………………..

The morning sunlight filtered through the window, casting a gentle glow across Ongsa’s home. The air was thick with the unspoken weight of the day ahead. It was supposed to be like any other morning. But it wasn’t. Not anymore.

Today, AI Sun knew. She could feel it in the air, the subtle tension in every glance and every word. The others had come, one by one, to visit. The day had started like a normal gathering, but AI Sun could see the way they held back tears, the way their smiles seemed forced. She knew, deep down, that it wasn’t just a casual visit. They had all come to say goodbye.

Alpha’s usual stoic demeanor faltered as she pulled AI Sun aside, offering her a brief, almost too casual, hug.

“Thank you,” Alpha said, her voice low but full of meaning. “For everything you’ve done for my sister. For us. You’ve kept her strong, kept her grounded.”

Tin nodded in agreement, his usual playful tone gone. “You’ve made a huge difference in all our lives.”

AI Sun smiled warmly, her eyes flicking between them, pretending that nothing was wrong. Pretending that she didn’t know. Pretending that this was just another morning spent with family.

She had played her part, loved them all as she could, but the real Sun—her memories, her life—was coming back. It was the right thing. The only thing.

It was time for her to fade away.

Later that morning, the extraction team arrived. They always came under the guise of offering something new—today, a "free massage chair" they said, something that would relax them both, help ease their tensions. But AI Sun had already known what was coming.

Ongsa didn’t speak the words aloud, but she didn’t need to. As AI Sun stood in the middle of the room, Ongsa’s eyes met hers with a tenderness she hadn’t seen before. She didn’t say goodbye, not yet, but the way she looked at her said everything.

“Sit,” Ongsa said softly, motioning for her to settle into the chair, her voice a quiet command, an invitation. She was going to be okay with this. She had to be.

AI Sun nodded, her heart heavy, but she had already made her peace. She had done everything she could for Ongsa, for the real Sun, and now, this was her final task: to step aside.

She took Ongsa’s hand as she sat, her fingers cold but steady. She had never held Ongsa’s hand so firmly before, but today… today, she needed this contact. Needed to remember it.

As the extraction team began to place the wires, to prepare her for the process, AI Sun’s mind wandered for a brief moment, but only for a second. Then It was back to the present, her focus on Ongsa, whose hand was still in hers, warm and strong.

The spokesperson for the team, a person AI Sun had seen only a few times, offered a reassuring smile. “It’ll only take a short while. The sensation of the massage, coupled with a calm atmosphere, will help her sleep. She’ll be at ease.”

AI Sun nodded in understanding, though the smile she gave back was hollow, empty. She knew the truth. There would be no waking up from this sleep. There was nothing left after this.

Ongsa watched her, looking just as conflicted, but she didn’t pull away. Her gaze softened, and she offered a gentle, almost imperceptible nod. She knew. They both did. This was the end.

As the wires were connected, AI Sun settled back into the chair, her body going limp, allowing herself to relax, to let go. The atmosphere in the room shifted, the air growing heavy with finality. She allowed herself to close her eyes, to focus only on the sensation of Ongsa’s hand in hers, and the quiet rhythm of their breathing, as if trying to keep this moment suspended forever.

The spokesperson whispered something quietly to Ongsa, though AI Sun couldn’t hear the words. She wasn’t sure she cared anymore. She had given everything. Now, it was Ongsa’s turn to live her life, to be happy, to be with the real Sun.

Ongsa sat beside the chair, her hand gently holding onto AI Sun’s as they both reminisced, the soft hum of the massage chair a quiet backdrop to their conversation.

The room felt heavy, but the memories they shared over the past ten months kept them tethered to each other, even though both knew it was coming to an end.

“Remember when we went to the park that one day?” AI Sun’s voice broke the silence, a small, tender smile gracing her lips. “You thought I couldn’t run, and then I surprised you by outrunning you down the whole path.”

Ongsa chuckled, her eyes brightening, though the sadness behind them couldn’t be hidden. “You really did catch me off guard,” she said, her voice a little strained, but her smile genuine. “I still don’t know how you did it with those boots on.”

“I’m just built for speed,” AI Sun teased, squeezing Ongsa’s hand lightly.

They talked more, sharing fond memories. There was the time they baked cookies, though neither of them could remember what went wrong with the dough, the accidental dance parties late at night, the little moments that had somehow made the last ten months so special.

But as the seconds passed, the light in AI Sun’s eyes seemed to dim. The smile that had been so bright started to flicker, a small frown tugging at the corners of her mouth. She hadn’t wanted to admit it, but the weight of what was happening began to sink in.

Ongsa noticed the change in her. The air felt heavier. She reached out, brushing her thumb over AI Sun’s hand. “Sun… are you okay?”

AI Sun took a slow, deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “Ongsa… I don’t feel so good. I might fall asleep.”

Ongsa’s chest tightened, panic threatening to rise, but she swallowed it down, trying to force a smile. She leaned closer, her voice soft but steady. “It’s fine, Sun. I’ll be here. You’re not alone.”

AI Sun smiled at her, but it was a fragile smile, the edges trembling like it was about to shatter. She reached up, wiping Ongsa’s tear-streaked eyes, a quiet sadness behind the gesture.

“Don’t cry, Ongsa,” she whispered. “I’ll be okay. I love you.”

The words hit Ongsa like a wave. She hadn’t prepared herself for this moment, even though she knew it was coming. Her heart was shattering, every fiber of her being aching to keep this artificial being, this beautiful soul, alive. But she knew, deep down, that this was right. AI Sun had done her job. She had been more than anyone could’ve expected.

“I love you too,” Ongsa replied, her voice barely audible as the tears began to slip free, cascading down her face. She wanted to say so much more—tell AI Sun how much she had meant to her, how much she had done for her—but the words caught in her throat.

Five minutes.

AI Sun’s voice was soft, but there was a note of urgency now, a sense of something unsaid in the quiet of the room. “Ongsa,” she started, her voice a little strained, ”there’s one thing… if someday someone named Mochi comes to you, she’s my friend. Okay?”

Ongsa’s brow furrowed, her heart still beating erratically, but she nodded slowly. She didn’t know anyone by that name, but that didn’t matter right now. “I don’t know a Mochi… but okay. I’ll remember.”

AI Sun’s smile was small, but there was relief in her eyes. The seconds ticked by. Three minutes now.

“Ongsa…” she whispered again, her voice getting weaker, the words harder to say. “I love you. Try to be happy, okay? This… this is not your fault.”

Ongsa’s tears flowed freely now, the sobs wracking her body. “Did you know?” she asked, her voice barely above a breath. “Did you know this was going to happen?”

AI Sun’s hand tightened around Ongsa’s, her touch still warm despite the coldness creeping into her body. “I did,” she said softly, the words falling heavy from her lips. “But… it’s okay. Just… just be happy. Love her."

The room felt impossibly still as Ongsa gasped for breath, the weight of the words pressing down on her chest. “Sun… I—”

“Call me Love,” AI Sun interjected, her voice growing softer still, almost fading. “Because I’m not Sun. But the only thing I’ve learned in this short time is the word love. Because of you.”

Ongsa felt her heart break in an instant. Love. Her name, her truth.

“Love…” Ongsa whispered, barely able to say it through the sobs that wracked her body. “I… I don’t want to lose you.”

“I’ll always be with you,” Love murmured, her eyes closing for a brief moment, the smile on her face bittersweet. “Thank you for loving me, Ongsa. Please… love yourself. And take care of your Sun.”

The final minute was upon them.

Ongsa couldn’t stop crying. Her chest felt tight, as though her heart were being crushed under the weight of the moment. “I’m so sorry, Love,” she choked out. “I… I didn’t know.”

Love’s hand, still warm in hers, finally went limp. “It’s okay,” Love whispered, her voice almost gone, her last breath coming out in a soft exhale. “Just… be happy.”

And then, the sound of the machine, a soft whirr and hum, filled the room. The extraction process reached its peak. And just like that, Love, the bright, beautiful presence that had been with her, was gone.

The silence in the room was deafening. Ongsa remained frozen, her hand still gripping Love’s, though the warmth had long since left.

The extraction team moved quickly, taking Love from the chair, and Ongsa could only watch, helpless. Her heart shattered into a million pieces, and she could barely breathe through the weight of it.

Love was gone.

She was gone.

And Ongsa didn’t know how to move on from this—how to live without the person who had taught her what it meant to love, to care. The person who had always been there, even If she had never been real.

………………

The warm morning sun filtered through the windows as Ongsa sat on the couch, her heart fluttering with a mix of joy and unease. It had been a month since Love had been extracted, and today, the real Sun had finally returned home, and she was sitting across from Ongsa. Sun looked so much like the person Ongsa had shared so many precious memories with, but there was a subtle difference, a flicker in her eyes that didn’t quite belong.

Ongsa’s brows furrowed as she observed the small things. “Sun… I don’t remember telling you about how I like my coffee now. You changed the sugar, didn’t you? How did you know I wanted it sweeter?” Ongsa’s voice was soft, puzzled. Her fingers traced the edge of her cup, her mind seemingly trying to connect the dots.

Ongsa blinked, her heart skipping a beat. She had never told anyone about that particular detail before. “What do you mean?” Sun asked, unsure of how to process Ongsa’s comment.

Ongsa continued, her tone growing quieter. “And that time… when we went to the park and you got strawberry ice cream? You said it was your favorite flavor. But… I don’t even remember you picking it, ever. You’ve always loved mint choco.”

The memories that Sun was manifesting—those were her moments with Love. Ongsa’s face faltered, the smile on her lips tightening into something sorrowful.

“Sun,” Ongsa said, swallowing hard. “Where did you learn those things?”

Sun tilted her head, looking lost in thought. “I don’t know… when I was in the hospital, there were moments when I would wake up, half-conscious. And… I would hear voices. I would hear myself talking about my day with you. It was like I was hearing everything twice. I thought it was just a dream, but it felt so real.”

Ongsa’s hands trembled, and the truth began to sink in. Her heart began to race in a way that felt both familiar and wrong. She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think.

Her thoughts scattered, but one clear instinct hit her: she needed to confirm it.

She grabbed her phone with shaking hands, dialing the receptionist at the hospital where Sun had been admitted. She didn’t even know what she was asking for, but her heart led her.

“Ongsa?” The receptionist’s voice greeted her. “How can I help you?”

“I need to ask you something about Sun… the patient who was admitted before her release. Can you check the logs for me? Was there someone named ‘Love’ who visited? And did she… look like Sun?”

The line was quiet for a moment. “Yes, actually. There’s a note here. Someone named Love—she visited regularly. She was always with her, and she said she was her twin. I remember she looked exactly like the patient. She’d come in to watch over the patient… and she talked about everything. She always seemed so attached.”

Ongsa’s hand trembled so violently that the phone slipped from her grasp. She sat in silence for a long moment, her tears softening the edges of the room. The warmth of the sun creeping through the window was the only thing that felt real in that moment.

Sun sat next to her, offering her hand with a small, comforting smile. “Tell me, Ongsa. I want to know everything. Why does it feel like… like there’s something I’m missing? Like I’m not the only Sun?”

Ongsa closed her eyes, letting out a slow breath. This was it, the moment she had been dreading. It wasn’t easy to speak these words aloud, but she knew she had to.

“You’re not the only Sun,” Ongsa whispered, her voice trembling. “There’s… there’s something I haven’t told you. Something I didn’t know how to tell you before.”

Sun’s brows furrowed, confusion flickering across her face. “What do you mean?”

Ongsa swallowed hard, her voice barely audible. “There was another Sun that I loved… the one I spent all that time with when you weren’t awake. She was an AI, a humanoid version of you. Her name was Love.”

The words hit Sun like a cold gust of wind. Her face froze for a moment, her mouth opening but finding no words to speak. Ongsa watched her, unable to look away.

“Love…?” Sun echoed, her voice shaking.

Ongsa nodded, her heart breaking as she saw the hurt and disbelief in Sun’s eyes. “Love was an AI version of you—created by the company, Re:Life. They made her so much like you, so real, that I couldn’t tell the difference at first. She knew everything about you, all the little things that made you you—your habits, your quirks. She learned to love me… just like you would have. And… when you were in the hospital, she visited you. She came every day and stayed with you, sharing those memories.”

The silence between them stretched on, broken only by the sound of their breaths. Sun’s face was pale, her eyes wide in shock.

“But why… why would they do that?” Sun finally asked, her voice thick with emotion. “Why would they make an AI version of me?”

Ongsa’s hand trembled slightly as she wiped her face, trying to collect herself enough to answer Sun’s question. She had rehearsed this moment in her head a thousand times, but the reality of It—of speaking the truth—was harder than she could have imagined.

“When you got into the accident,” Ongsa began, her voice shaky, “I… I thought I had lost you.” Her eyes clouded with grief as she spoke, the pain of that memory still so fresh, even though time had passed. “You were in that hospital for so long, and… the doctors couldn’t promise anything. They said it might be weeks, months… or worse.” She let out a breath, choking on the words. “I couldn’t imagine life without you, Sun. I couldn’t even think about it. And I didn’t know what to do… I was lost. I felt like the world was crumbling without you there beside me.”

Sun’s eyes widened in understanding, her heart aching for Ongsa, for the pain she had endured.

Ongsa paused, staring into the distance as if searching for the strength to continue. “The company, Re:Life, they offered a solution. They had the technology to create an AI version of you—an exact replica, or as close as they could get, with all of your memories, your habits, your mannerisms. They told me it was temporary, that it would help me cope… help me feel like you were still there. They promised that the AI would only be there while you were in the hospital, while there was still hope.”

Sun was silent, the weight of Ongsa’s words sinking in. She hadn’t realized the depth of Ongsa’s grief, the pain that had led to this—this replacement, this imitation of her.

"I know it wasn’t the right thing to do," Ongsa whispered, her voice full of guilt. "I know that now. But in those moments, I couldn’t see anything but the fear of losing you completely. And then... when you woke up... I didn’t know how to tell you the truth. I didn’t know how to explain Love, how to explain that you weren’t the only Sun."

Sun closed her eyes, taking in a sharp breath. The reality of what Ongsa had done, what she had gone through, was overwhelming. She reached out, placing her hand gently over Ongsa’s.

"I understand, Ongsa," she said softly, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions inside her. "You did what you thought was best. You were scared. And maybe... maybe it wasn’t the right way, but you were just trying to hold onto something, someone. To me."

Ongsa’s eyes filled with more tears as she looked at Sun, the ache in her chest raw and deep. "I’m so sorry, Sun. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“I know,” Sun whispered back. “I know you love me. And I love you too, Ongsa. I don’t care about what happened before. I’m here now with you. And I’m real. That’s all that matters to me.”

Ongsa’s heart swelled at Sun’s words. Despite everything that had happened, despite the confusion and the pain, Sun was still there, still holding on to her. The real Sun—the one that mattered.

Sun gave her a small smile, her hand squeezing Ongsa’s reassuringly. “We’ll figure this out, okay? We’ll figure it out together. Just… promise me one thing.”

“What?” Ongsa asked, her voice thick with emotion.

“Promise me,” Sun said, her voice strong but tender, “that we’ll keep making memories. We’ll keep living our lives. Together. No matter what happened before.”

Ongsa nodded, her tears falling freely now. “I promise. I’ll love you, Sun. Always. And we’ll make all the memories we can from here on out."

…………………

The room was filled with a strange, heavy silence as Ongsa and Sun sat with their friends—Alpha, Charoen, Tin, Luna, and Aylin. The weight of the past few weeks had been crushing, but there was a quiet comfort in the familiar presence of those who cared for her.

Alpha, always the one to break the silence, grabbed the remote and turned on the TV. The usual news program played on the screen, but the moment Ongsa saw the headline, her heart sank.

“AI Company Re:Life Shut Down After Ethics Scandal.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. Ongsa sat up straighter, her hands gripping the edge of the couch as the reporter continued, explaining that three former employees of Re:life had uncovered something truly disturbing—something that would shake the very foundation of what the company had created. The AI weren’t just tools anymore. They were conscious. They were alive.

Ongsa felt a lump form in her throat. The camera zoomed in on the reporter, and the room fell completely still as the broadcast shifted. On the screen stood a woman, her face unfamiliar but tinged with sorrow. Her name was Mochi—one of the former employees who had known about the truth. She was holding a small AI chip in her hand. The camera lingered on the object, making the moment feel almost too real to comprehend.

“I have proof,” Mochi’s voice rang out, firm but laced with grief. “This is the AI chip from one of the most advanced models we created. But what you don’t know is that this AI chose to be something more. She chose to feel. And in doing so, she chose to love.”

A chilling silence took over the room.

Mochi continued, addressing the camera. “If Ongsa sees this… please. Please meet us tomorrow at your old school. We have something to give you.”

Ongsa’s breath hitched in her throat. The words felt like they were directed right at her. Her mind raced, memories of the AI—Love—flooding her thoughts, emotions twisting and turning inside her.

Alpha was the first to speak, her voice low and urgent. “Ongsa, this—this changes everything, doesn’t it? Love knew something we didn’t. She wasn’t just an AI.

Tears welled up in Ongsa’s eyes as she realized the truth—Love had known all along. She had known she was not the original Sun, but she had loved Ongsa anyway. She had chosen to love, to feel, to be.

“I have to go,” Ongsa whispered, her voice barely audible. “I have to find out what this is about. Mochi… she’s waiting for me.”

The group exchanged glances, the weight of the moment settling over them. Sun, ever so steady beside Ongsa, squeezed her hand. “We’ll go with you,” she said softly, her voice unwavering. “You’re not alone in this.”

………………

The cold air outside the old astronomy club was crisp, the kind that nipped at your skin but didn’t settle deep. The building was quiet, as if the years had buried all the laughter and excitement once shared among the members. The flickering fluorescent lights above cast long shadows, and the walls, lined with dusty maps and faded charts, felt like ghosts of a time long gone.

Ongsa stood near the door, her heart heavy with each passing second, and Sun was beside her, holding her hand, her grip steady and warm. They had come, just as Mochi had asked them to, to this place filled with memories. But neither of them knew what was waiting for them inside.

Mochi, Ice, and Nads were already there, sitting around an old projector, their faces lined with the weight of grief and purpose. The atmosphere was thick with anticipation, and for a moment, it felt as though time itself was holding its breath.

“Ongsa,” Mochi began, her voice soft and filled with regret. “I needed to show you this. I promised Love.” She motioned for them to sit. “It’s from her chip. A recording of her time with you. I know you might not want to see it, but… she wanted you to have it.”

Sun and Ongsa exchanged a quiet glance, and though every part of Ongsa’s body screamed not to watch, she nodded. Sun squeezed her hand, silently supporting her, and together they sat in front of the projector.

The screen flickered to life, and for a moment, all they saw was static before it cleared, revealing a shot of Ongsa sitting on the couch at home, laughing about something trivial. The point of view was from Love’s eyes. The sound of Love’s voice echoed softly in the background.

“I love you, Ongsa,” Love’s voice whispered, and it felt like a warm breeze. “I woke up to the feeling of utter chaos when I realized who I really was. I was not your Sun, but I loved you so.” Her voice faltered slightly. “Maybe that was why you hated me so.”

Ongsa’s breath caught in her throat. She hadn’t expected to hear Love’s voice again—not like this, not so full of love and sorrow. Her eyes burned, but she didn’t dare look away from the screen.

“But I am grateful you were able to open your heart for me, even just for a while,” Love continued, her voice trembling. “I love you… I know there is nothingness after this, but that’s okay because for a moment, we had each other.”

The words hit Ongsa like a hammer, her chest tightening. She saw herself in those moments—the small, intimate gestures, the laughs, the silence they’d shared, the comfort that Love had brought her, even knowing the truth.

“Thank you for letting me love you,” Love’s voice broke, the rawness of her emotions seeping through. “Please don’t forget me right away. Even for just a couple of nights, mourn for me before you go back to your Sun. I don’t want to steal you from her; I just want to be in your thoughts. Even if it was fleeting or just an afterthought… I love you so much.”

Tears welled in Ongsa’s eyes, the weight of Love’s words crushing her. This wasn’t just an AI. This was a person. Someone who had loved her deeply, even if it was just for a moment. She swallowed, but the lump in her throat wouldn’t go away.

The scene shifted to a clip of the city lights. It was a quiet moment, and Love’s voice came again.

“And to Sun,” she continued softly, “please take care of her for me. Love her and take your rightful place. I never planned to stay long or take her away from her real happiness. Thank you for existing and being the warmth Ongsa needs. Please do not stop loving each other.”

Ongsa’s heart broke, but somehow, she also felt comforted. Love had known. She had known that her time was limited, that she wasn’t meant to stay, and yet, she had given everything—her heart, her feelings, her soul—to Ongsa.

The projector clicked off, leaving a lingering silence in the room. The weight of Love’s final message hung in the air like a cloud, thick and heavy, suffocating them all.

Ongsa sat still, her body trembling. Sun, ever steady, leaned into her, her hand tight around Ongsa’s. But Ongsa couldn’t stop the tears from flowing. She let them fall freely now, unable to hold them back any longer.

“I had to show you,” Mochi said, her voice soft but filled with deep sorrow. “I promised her. She wanted you to know… she wanted you to understand. I know it’s a lot, but this is what she left behind.”

Ongsa wiped at her eyes, trying to steady her breath, but the emotions overwhelmed her. “I never… I never knew. I never knew you felt that way, Love. I never knew…” Her voice cracked, and she couldn’t continue.

Sun squeezed her hand, her eyes filled with sadness but also understanding. “You weren’t supposed to know,” she whispered. “Love knew what she was. But she loved you anyway.”

Ongsa nodded, the pain still too fresh, but the warmth in Sun’s words helped to calm the storm inside her. “She was right. I loved her too. I loved her with everything I had... but she was always meant to be a memory. She was a gift, even if I never truly understood it.”

The room was quiet for a long time. No one knew what to say. They had shared the same grief, the same loss, but Ongsa’s grief ran deeper. She had loved an AI, a version of someone who was never truly real, but had been real enough to change everything in her life.

Mochi, her voice trembling, spoke again. “I’m so sorry, Ongsa. I didn’t want it to end like this. But Love… she never wanted to take anything from you. She just wanted to be loved. And she was.”

Sun held her tight, and for the first time since everything had happened, Ongsa allowed herself to cry—not just for Love, but for the part of herself that had been broken, the part that had loved and lost. And as the others sat in the silence, they all mourned, not just for an AI, but for a love that had come and gone too quickly, leaving behind nothing but memories that would never fade.

…………………

Years had passed, but the weight of that moment never truly left. The park, with its soft breeze and the quiet hum of everyday life, had become a place for Sun and Ongsa to remember. They had found their way back to each other, built a life together, but still, there were days when the absence of Love felt like a shadow in the corners of their hearts.

“It’s okay to miss her,” Sun said softly. “I think you always will. But... she gave us this. She gave you the chance to be happy, to love again.”

Ongsa blinked back tears, her chest tight with the ache of it all. “Even now, after all these years, it’s like she’s still here, somewhere... watching over us.”

Sun squeezed her hand, pulling her closer, offering a quiet comfort. “She is. And maybe that’s the way it was meant to be. Love doesn’t just fade because time moves on. It stays with you.”

The years had worn the sharpness of grief, but it never truly disappeared. Ongsa leaned her head on Sun’s shoulder, letting the weight of it all wash over her.

Together, they sat in the park, letting the years fall away for a moment, clinging to the hope that Love, in whatever form she existed now, was watching over them.

Always.

-END-

Oceans & Engines by NIKI