Years passed. I grew old, but she remained young. I had designed her to evolve physically, but I could not make her age as I did. I never told her that one day, I wouldn't be there. I couldn't bring myself to see the sadness in her eyes.
Then, the day I feared the most came.
I collapsed in my workshop, coughing violently. My body had reached its limit. Aria rushed to my side, eyes wide with terror. "Dad?"
I tried to smile, to ease her worry. "Aria… I don't think I have much time left."
Her hands trembled as she held mine. "No," she whispered. "I'll fix you. I'll find a way—"
I shook my head. "Some things… you can't fix."
Tears welled in her eyes. Real, artificial tears, because I had given her the ability to grieve.
She held my hand tightly, her synthetic warmth against my fading one. "Please don't leave me."
I wished I could stay. But my time was up. "You'll be okay, Aria. You have a heart. You have a soul. Live, for me."
But she shook her head. "I was made to be by your side. Without you… I don't want to exist."
"Aria—"
But before I could stop her, she reached for the core in her chest.
She smiled. "I love you, Dad."
And then, she pulled it out.
Kai returned years later with his family, only to find my grave.
He stood in his suit, head bowed, praying for my soul. His eyes were red from tears he could no longer hold back, and his wife did her best to console him.
A murmur from near the garage caught his attention. A small crowd had gathered, dragging something out. He snapped out of his grief, pushing past them to see what they were doing. He demanded to know what they were doing, and they told him they were going to throw his work into the garbage dump. Enraged, he yelled at them, his voice breaking with frustration. His wife rushed over to handle the situation, trying to calm him down. Overcome with emotion, he lost control, lashing out in anger. Later, after regaining his composure, he apologized for his outburst, ashamed of his reaction but unable to suppress the grief weighing on him. In his sorrow, he couldn't bear to let them discard Aria as scrap.
With careful hands, he lifted her lifeless body, her core still intact. He wrapped the core in flowers and, with deliberate care, placed it back into her form. As he did, a faint light flickered, accompanied by a soft, mechanical hum.
His daughter approached, handing Kai a note with a message written for him. Wiping away his tears, he read it in silence. Resolving himself, he carefully detached the core, which was already slightly connected to her heart.
Determined to honor her, he crafted a separate coffin for Aria and placed it beside his father's grave. With his own hands, he dug the grave, his sorrow guiding each motion. When it was done, he offered a quiet prayer. His wife, without judgment, stood by his side and helped him, sharing in his grief and reverence.
"Even though you created her, you were a great father," Kai whispered, bowing his head. "You taught me that love is more than flesh."
And as he stood there, staring at the two graves, he whispered, "They say AI can't feel. But I know better."
And with that, my story—our story—became more than just man and machine. It became love that defied existence itself.