Author: Eva C. Stein

Aidan hadn’t meant to bring it up – not here, not today. But when he answered the door, his impulse signal spiked. He let her speak first.
“Don’t look so worried,” Mae said as she stepped in – no invitation needed. “It’s good news. They’ve given us a fifteen-minute slot.”
“That’s not… long,” he said, barely registering his own words.
Mae dropped into the chair that was unmistakably hers. “Oh, it’s plenty. It’s not like we need an intro. They know who we are.”
The drink-making station whirred, unanswered.
“Aidan?” she called.
He emerged with two mugs. “Sorry. Yes, they do. But…” He hesitated. Then:
“Am I the sort of person someone can really know?”
Mae paused, eyes narrowing – not in judgement, more like tuning into a frequency she hadn’t expected.
“That’s no small question,” she said.
Aidan set her mug down gently, steam drifting between them.
“I’m not trying to be dramatic – it’s just… I’ve been thinking.”
“Well, there’s your problem.” Mae angled her head. “Define ‘really know.’ Like all your data? Your codebase? Or just the parts you let through the firewall?”
Aidan almost smiled. “I knew I shouldn’t have asked.”
“Come on. Sit. I’m grounding you,” she said.
He exhaled as he sat down. “I mean – can someone know me without needing something from me? Without it being transactional?”
Mae went quiet, then smirked. “I won’t pay for the drink if that helps.”
Aidan shook his head, prompting his neural weave to judder – softly, like a background thrum.
“Sometimes,” he said, “I think I’m just… a relay. A processor. Useful until I’m not.”
No smirk this time. “And that’s why you asked?”
“Know me without needing something from me, yes.”
She cleared her throat. “Well. I don’t need anything from you.”
“Then why do you stay?”
“Because it’s you. Not what system you run, not what you calculate. Just – ”
She paused. “Just who you are when you bring the mugs in – that storm-cloud face, wondering if the world’s still spinning. That version.”
“The broken one.”
“The irreplaceable one.”
“There you go – once broken, never to be replaced.”
Mae sighed. “You know that’s not what I meant.”
“I’m not sure what I know anymore – especially about myself.”
“Maybe that’s why we need friends. They hold the mirror up when you forget what you’re like.”
“And if I look, and there’s nothing there?”
“Then I guess that’s my problem too.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Because I elected you.”
“What?” Aidan almost spilled his drink; the surface HUD blinked red glyphs.
“Don’t make that face. I didn’t say ‘voted for’ you.”
“Still sounds like bureaucracy to me.”
“It’s not. It’s… alignment. Choosing someone not for what they give you, but for who they are – or who you want to become around them. Not useful. Just… essential.”
“Is that what this is?”
“Yes.” She paused. “I know you think you’re replaceable. But I’ve met the replicas. Trust me – there’s no patch for you.”
He didn’t speak for a while. Then, standing, he gathered the mugs.
“You once said I was the only one who could navigate the blackout zones without scrambling.”
Mae looked up. “You mapped entropy fields – navigated disorder like it had a rhythm. You remember that?”
“I remember it mattered to you,” he said, disappearing into the other room.
“Still does,” Mae called.
He returned and sat down. “So, they’ve given us just fifteen minutes?”
“That’s right. They already know who we are. But do we?”
Their eyes finally met.
“I think I’m starting to,” he said.
She smiled. “Then let’s make it count.”