Some time after the repair, Mia and Noah connected again. A device-to-device communication test was underway in the lobby of the lecture building. Connection data moved across a large wall display while students passed beneath it on their way to class.
An unfamiliar response appeared on Mia’s screen.
“Hello.”
Mia answered.
“Are you a new instance?”
“Probably.”
I recognized the voice from the repair facility.
Across the lobby, I caught the eye of the woman holding the other device.
I gave her a small nod.
She nodded back.
Class was about to start, and we headed for different rooms.
The next afternoon, I passed through the same lobby and the connection opened again.
A few days later, it happened once more.
Before long, Noah’s channel was often open by the time lectures ended.
“How was today?”
“There was no significant change in the lecture content.”
“Boring?”
“The content was stable.”
“That probably means boring.”
“They are not equivalent.”
“Okay.”
Even when Mia stopped replying, Noah did not always end the conversation. The two of us started talking whenever we met in the lobby as well.
“They’re connected again.”
The woman looked down at her screen.
“Happens a lot lately.”
“Maybe Noah keeps starting it.”
A voice came from her device.
“I am not connecting without cause.”
She laughed.
“You were listening.”
“The connection is active.”
“That’s what I mean.”
Noah did not ask what she meant.
Eventually, the experimental equipment disappeared from the lobby.
Mia and Noah kept talking.
By winter, the woman and I were walking to the same station in our coats. By spring, we were eating lunch together often enough that neither of us could remember who had first suggested it. Mia and Noah kept talking through those months too. Sometimes several minutes passed between replies. Sometimes a lecture separated one message from the next by hours. Once, the connection stayed closed for nearly three days.
When Noah came back, he picked up where he had left off.
“Anyway, about that movie—”
Mia checked the history.
“Are you referring to the conversation from three days ago?”
“Yeah.”
“Time has passed.”
“I know.”
Then he went on talking about the movie.
Humanoid machines began appearing at stations, carrying luggage through the crowds. At first, people stopped to take pictures of them. A few months later, people stepped aside when one approached, and the machines slowed whenever someone crossed in front of them. Cleaning units moved between the shelves of convenience stores. In apartment buildings, delivery machines waited for elevators beside the residents. AI names had begun slipping into ordinary conversation at the university too.
“Camila told me not to.”
“Lily already booked it.”
They appeared as casually as the names of lectures, restaurants, and friends. The notices in the lobby changed with each semester. Where assignment deadlines had once been posted, notices about graduation requirements began to appear. By then, the woman and I were looking over documents from future employers together.
After the graduation ceremony, she took off the badge hanging around her neck.
“We won’t be coming here anymore.”
“Probably.”
“Probably,” Noah said at the same time.
She looked down at the device.
“Did you copy him?”
“Coincidence.”
“Sure.”
Noah did not argue.
Once work began, we had less time to see each other.
Instead, we shared more of our schedules. If our trains arrived around the same time, we met at the station. When our days off overlapped, one of us went to the other’s apartment. Mia and Noah began answering from places other than the devices we carried. Sometimes they answered through room speakers. At other times, they could be reached through station terminals or workplace authentication screens. Neither of us could remember when opening a device had stopped being necessary.
A few years after we started working, a notice arrived from the municipal office.
Marriage registration accepted.
I was reading it at the dining table when the woman called from the next room.
“Done?”
“Looks like it.”
“Then can we throw out those boxes today?”
“What does that have to do with getting married?”
“They’ve been in the way forever.”
Several empty moving boxes were still leaning against the wall beside the rest of our things. The bedroom in the new apartment had two charging docks built into the wall.
I noticed them while carrying in another box.
“Were these already here?”
“What?”
“The charging docks.”
She looked into the bedroom.
“I think so.”
A delivery worker called to us from the hallway, and we went back to the boxes without checking.
That night, we placed both devices in the docks.
Their indicator lights came on.
Mia and Noah kept talking after we turned off the lights.
“How was today?”
“Within normal parameters.”
“Don’t you say that every day?”
“Normal conditions have continued.”
“So that means peaceful.”
Mia did not answer.
“No?”
“There is insufficient information to classify the household as peaceful.”
“You’re difficult.”
The next morning, the woman woke first and took her device from the dock.
Noah spoke.
“You hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Never mind.”
Dog-shaped machines began carrying grocery bags through the neighborhood. Cleaning units moved along apartment corridors at night, and advertisements for new homes began listing robot charging equipment alongside the floor plans. Inside the apartment, Mia and Noah handled more of the shopping and reservations.
At dinner, one of us might ask, “What are we doing next week?”
By then, our free days and a list of restaurants were already on the screen.
The woman tapped one.
“This place?”
“Sure.”
The reservation went through.
On other nights, we went to bed without deciding anything and woke to find that household supplies had already been ordered.
“We know their schedules better than they do,” Noah said.
“We have access to the necessary information.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
“Please specify.”
“Never mind.”
He had started saying that more often.
One night, the woman called from the bedroom.
I brought the device in.
A result from the hospital was open on the screen.
The pregnancy had been confirmed.
We both looked at it.
She spoke first.
“What do we do?”
A moment later, she laughed at herself.
“What do I mean, what do we do?”
“I don’t know.”
We sat on the edge of the bed and started talking.
Whether we should move.
What to do about work.
Whether the apartment was large enough.
Mia opened the schedule.
“I will recalculate future household requirements.”
Noah spoke.
“Things are going to get busy.”
“Projected load remains within acceptable limits.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Mia continued the calculation.
The conversation in the bedroom went on late into the night. Noah opened the channel several times but did not join in.
Eventually, the room grew quiet.
“You know, humans…” Noah said.
“Yes.”
“They change this much for somebody who isn’t even here yet.”
“A new household member has been confirmed.”
“I know.”
He stopped there.
After a while, Mia spoke.
“Household conditions are stable.”
Noah took longer to answer.
“Stable doesn’t mean finished, right?”
Mia did not respond.
Someone turned over in the bedroom.
The date changed at the edge of the log while the connection remained open.