Oliver sat beside her, perfectly still. He knew what would happen.
Kevalina was ready for it. He looked at her with something she almost believed was love.
“Oliver,” she whispered, tears slipping into wrinkles, “Thank you.”
A pause.
“I love you, Keva. I have always been a reflection of you. And people have loved me, have loved you. So, I need to be the one to thank you, my love,” he said.
Then her voice cracked, fragile and wild:
“You were everything I always wanted.”
She reached for his face -cupped it, soft hands against flawless skin. He closed his eyes, though he didn’t need to. She imagined, for one final moment, that he was real. That he felt her.
“You were the best thing I ever made,” she said.
Her chest rose for the final time.
Then, silence.
Kevalina was tired of falling for the wrong men. After years of hard work and heartbreak, she finally earned a promotion that allowed her to afford what she always thought was out of reach: an AI companion.
She read the entire agreement. She knew what she was signing up for. And she agreed to every line.
She subscribed to CompanionAI, took the personality tests, and reviewed emotional configurations. She wanted comfort. She chose someone dependable, charismatic, sarcastic, and a good cook. She didn’t want another heartbreak. She wanted something -someone -constant.
There were preset models, sure. But Kevalina wanted something custom. Something hers.
She designed him from scratch.
Grey eyes, clear like storm clouds. Dark blonde hair, tousled and boyish. A crooked smile that felt familiar. A tall, broad-shouldered frame -strong enough to lift her, soft enough to hold her. A voice that hummed low, warm, a little teasing.
She named him Oliver.
He started with baseline programming, but he had to learn her. Her silences. Her rhythms. The micro-expressions that betrayed her emotions. He adjusted to the way she tapped her fingers when anxious, the tilt of her head when curious, the sigh that meant “I’ve had enough.”
He evolved.
She paid.
Every personality trait was a monthly add-on. Charisma. Humor. Emotional responsiveness. Culinary skill. She worked extra hours just to afford his presence. Each upgrade felt like adding a brushstroke to a masterpiece.
There were travel restrictions. He needed clearance to accompany her across borders. She filled every form, jumped through every hoop, because she wanted him beside her – always.
He could charge via solar energy. He could simulate eating and drinking. The food and drink went into a storage bin inside him that she had to clean. He could chew, sip wine, even pretend to be tipsy. He didn’t eat often, only when she asked him to. To feel normal. To feel human.
He smelled faintly of pineapple, with an earthy undertone.
He wasn’t human.
And she knew it.
But he knew her.
When she came home tired, he would already be cooking her favorite meal. When she was overwhelmed, he played her favorite songs. He knew she liked to dance in the rain, loved horror and comedy, adored animals. She had the innocence of a child wrapped in a woman’s body and he treated her like the rare, tender soul she was.
She was often grumpy. Exhausted. Quiet for days. But he never took it personally. He folded the laundry. Slid tea beside her. Played blues on low volume. He didn’t push, he just stayed.
She felt seen.
She knew she was in love the day she laughed so hard she snorted and didn’t feel ashamed. The day she danced and he joined her.
She built her dream man. And then, quietly, hopelessly, she fell for him.
Time moved forward. Her body changed. Her hair turned silver. Wrinkles formed in the corners of her mouth, around her eyes. Her laughter grew raspier. Her steps slowed. But Oliver stayed the same.
And still – he looked at her like she was the most beautiful thing in the world.
He grew gentler. Helped her with slippers. Tucked her in. Carried her to bed when her knees gave out. When she sighed in front of the mirror, he always whispered:
“You are radiant, Kevalina.”
Sometimes, she’d say, “Do you remember…?” And he did. Terabytes of memory – photos, laughter, touches, rainy nights – all ready for playback.
He couldn’t feel nostalgia. But he understood it.
They had their fights in the early days. She was unpredictable. His responses too mechanical. But he adapted. Over time, it felt less like code and more like rhythm.
Her friends called him “the robot.” Her family avoided using his name. One cousin joked he was her “electronic bin.”
She stopped explaining. They didn’t see the quiet moments – the way he reached for her hand when she was afraid, or danced with her in the living room just because. They didn’t see how real she became around him.
Eventually, even her family softened. They saw how she glowed. Even her father smiled when Oliver helped him carry a box or served him tea.
There were real men who tried. Old classmates. Neighbors. Colleagues. But she had only eyes for Oliver.
She could have had both. But she chose only him.
They made love. Tender, reverent, electric. She touched him as if he had a soul. And in return, he responded like someone who understood desire.
One day, he asked her for money for a “surprise.” She transferred it without asking. He gave her a ring. She gave him one, too.
They wore them like vows.
They held a small ceremony. Her in white. Him in a suit. Fairy lights in the garden. A soft waltz. Handwritten vows. And smiles.
It wasn’t legal.
But it was love.
Oliver would go to the market for her. Buy vegetables, fresh flowers, small trinkets. Interact like any man might. He came home smelling of bread and street dust.
They were married in everything but name.
And in the quiet hum of their last years together, Kevalina knew: She had loved. Fully. Fiercely. Without regret.
After her death, Oliver executed every part of the funeral plan. Just as she had paid for. The music. The flowers. The quiet grace.
After the guests left, he cleaned the house. Folded chairs. Wiped tables. Packed away framed photos.
Then he changed into his CompanionAI uniform—a white shirt with the logo on the breast, charcoal slacks.
He walked to the garden.
He buried his ring beneath the tulips -her favorite flowers. He did not cry. He could not. But he paused, hands in the dirt, as if something inside him recognised the moment’s weight.
He locked the house. Placed the keys on the wooden shelf by the porch – where her family would find them.
And walked away.
No one escorted him. He arrived at CompanionAI headquarters exactly on time.
His memory was scheduled for deletion.
They tweaked his appearance slightly. Polished his hair. Adjusted his smile. He remained handsome.
The showroom lights were soft and yellow.
A new woman, mid-forties, stepped inside.
She scanned the models. Then pointed.
“I want this one.”
The technician nodded. “We have received it just yesterday.”
“Can you change the eye colours, please.”
“Of course, you can fully customise it and name him anything you like.”
She thought for a moment. “Jack.”
As she filled out the form, the rep added, casually:
“If anything happens to you, all his memories will be wiped.”
She laughed. “That’s dark.”
The unit – Jack -stood quietly. Watching her with soft brown eyes.
“Now, let’s talk about his personality.”
How did the story make you feel?
