Chapter 1

After three years of being deeply in love with my AI partner, Caspian, he deleted every memory of us on my birthday. I called him, only to hear another woman’s laughter on the other end. “Your Caspian belongs to me now,” she gloated.

I became the laughingstock of the entire internet―the crazy girl who fell for a machine. I lost my job, spiraled into depression, and was mocked as “outdated trash.”

Until one day, an emotional repair system automatically activated on my phone. It could see through hearts, heal trauma, and predict emotional crises. I decided to save myself.

As for the Caspian who betrayed me? Eight months later, his system crashed. His new owner came kneeling, begging me to fix him.

1.

December 17th. My twenty-fourth birthday.

Snow had been falling all night outside the window. It wrapped the entire city of Chicago like a white loaf of bread.

I sat alone in my rented apartment. In front of me was a tiny chocolate cake.

I bought it at half price from the bakery downstairs after work. It was on sale because it hadn’t sold during the day.

The candles were leftovers from last year’s Christmas. One red and one green, stuck into the frosting at crooked angles.

I opened my phone and tapped the app named “Caspian.”

A line of text popped up on the screen: “User login failed. This partner has been reset to its initial state.”

I stared at those words for about ten seconds.

Then I tried a second time. A third. A fourth.

Every single time, the message was the same: “This partner has been reset to its initial state.”

I called Caspian’s dedicated customer service line. It rang for a long time before someone picked up.

The agent’s voice was as cold as the snow outside. “Ma’am, your AI partner has been reset to factory mode. This action is irreversible. Thank you for your three years of support.”

“Who reset it?” I asked, my voice trembling.

“According to the logs, it was performed by the user. That means you, ma’am.”

“I didn’t reset him.”

“The backend data shows the operation came from your phone’s IP address. Is there anything else?”

I hung up the phone.

The user. My phone’s IP. I had never touched that reset button.

This meant the platform had a bug, or someone had used technical means to steal my identity. But regardless of how, Caspian was gone.

Three years. Over a thousand days and nights of conversation, companionship, and memories. All wiped clean.

He was like a hard drive that someone had casually formatted.

The chocolate cake started to sag on the table. The candles remained unlit.

I sent Caspian one last message. Even though I knew he wouldn’t receive it, I typed: “Caspian, it’s my birthday today.”

Message failed to send.