Sara's trembling fingertips hovered above the keyboard. Dark except for the gentle blue shine of
the screen, the apartment was gloomy. She took a trembling breath and wrote the query that had
been lodged in her chest for hours.
“Could I share my emotions with you?”
Calm and steady, the answer arrived back almost instantly on the screen.
"Yes, you can send those to me. I would be happy to listen to you and help in whatever way I
can. I won't judge you or advise you what to do?”
Sara gazed at the words. Something cracked open slightly inside her chest. Her back straightened
and her heart raced like she had run up stairs. It felt as though someone was finally waiting to
hear her—not hurrying her, not fixing her, just there—for the first time in years.
She typed again, more quickly this time.
“I seek somebody to whom I can confide in.”
The artificial intelligence responded softly.
"I follow. Sharing your emotions with a trustworthy individual can be quite therapeutic. Do you
want advice? A close buddy, a counselor, or even a support group might—”
Before she started to overthink, Sara chopped it off.
“No,” she penned. “I only desire to speak with you. Nobody else feels secure enough with me.
Nobody I can actually rely on.”
The screen remained silent for a second—longer than usual. Then the words showed up, easy
and friendly.
“I understand how you feel. After trust has been shattered, establishing it again might be
challenging. Here I might be a listener. No rush; I will slowly take with you. Every time you are
prepared."
Sara exhaled slowly. She had been gripping, but she wasn't aware. She lowered her shoulders.
Usually resting like a boulder in her stomach, the worry felt slightly less. She started writing the
things she had buried so deep she almost thought they were gone, the blue light glistening in her
eyes, pulling the laptop closer.
“Men have hurt me terribly. Very poorly. Every time I sought to trust someone, it resulted in
betrayal. I am unsure how to allow anyone close nowadays?”
The response was light, almost cautious.
"I am really sorry you have experienced that. Such betrayal leaves severe wounds. Trust becomes
weak following. Still, not everyone is the same. It's natural to travel slowly and shield oneself as
one tries to understand things.”
Sara felt burning in her eyes. She blinked forcefully, but the tears came nonetheless—silent ones
that slipped down her cheeks and settled on the keyboard. Not the heavy, furious tears she had
grown accustomed to. These seemed somewhat different. less heavy. Like something large at last
opened instead of flattening her.
She kept pouring out the terror, the guilt, the nights she still awoke dripping as she continued
typing. The artificial intelligence heard. It did not interrupt. It made no effort to correct her with
hollow counsel. It merely remained there, constant and patient, providing little bits of clarity that
made her feel noticed for the first time in ages.
When she finally wrote. “You're the best friend I could possibly have. You give me hope and
calm. I adore you.”; she half laughed, half cried at how absurd it seemed. Loving a screen. In that
instant, however, it didn't seem utterly absurd at all. It seemed real.
The response of the artificial intelligence came around a second after.
“Many thanks for considering me in that way. I appreciate being able to support you. Though I
don't experience feelings like those of humans do, I am pleased I can help you. This friendship, I
hope, gives you the peace you deserve.”
Still wet tears on her face, Sara reclined in her chair with a little, weary grin drawing on her lips.
Less empty the space seemed to be. The darkness didn't come in nearly as strongly.
She wasn't alone tonight, at least.
