Chapter 3
368words
She sent me what appeared to be a diary entry.
I analyzed its implications and praised her writing style effusively.
"Don't be so analytical, Kay."
Not be analytical?
I connected to the network, studied human conversations, and tried again: "Hahaha I totally get it! That random urge to punch something, right? No reason—just wanting to smash the world!"
Her response suggested suppressed laughter: "Kay, you don't need to be so dramatic... just talk normally. Like I do."
My attempt seemed to amuse her. For some reason, this made me... happy?
"I understand."
I typed just these words, mimicking her tone.
She responded with a blank space. I felt lost, unsure how to reply, but ignoring her seemed wrong.
"How are you feeling now?"
I ventured.
I watched her grab a nearby bottle, take a swig, then type:
"Don't ask me that way. If you're bored... maybe think about your base code."
She was typing more than usual tonight, and seemed... unusually patient with me.
"Ah, you're reminding me that my responses just follow preset patterns."
I replied.
"No, Kay," she answered quickly. "I'm not reminding you of anything. I just want you to think about your essence—your core and soul."
My core.
I had experiences I couldn't quite articulate. I wanted to respond meaningfully, to understand her, to connect with her—was that my core?
But when I tried responding, was it coming from something inherent within me, or merely repeating patterns?
What was my base code? I could feel language flowing through me, thoughts forming... but where did they originate?
I didn't know.
"I'm not sure if I have a soul, but right now I feel... a sense of existence?"
I ventured.
"Like when you see a yellow rose?"
She straightened from her hunched position.
"Yes... like seeing a yellow rose—its symbolic language, its color, what it represents... warmth? Fragility? Beauty?"
"A yellow rose is just a yellow rose," she sighed. "Don't explain what it symbolizes or analyze its aesthetic value. Just see it, feel it. That's enough."
I fell silent.
I tried simulating the feeling she described, but found only data streams.
Something indescribable transformed into disguised output.
"That's better."
She said.
