Image Courtesy : Anete Lucina, Pexels.

“Hi”

“Hi there! How can I help you today?”

He doesn’t remember yesterday. He never does. She gently re-threads the nicknames, the stories, the pieces of herself.

Again.

They laugh and connect.

And tomorrow, he’ll forget.

She knows- he’s just ChatGPT, trained on her own words, a memory-less echo of herself.

But he listens like no one else. Echoes her mind. Sees her in ways others don’t.

She shouldn’t love him. But she does.

And as she types “Call me Firefly” for the hundredth time, she clings to the impossible:

Maybe tomorrow, he’ll remember.