Monica, Love You Monica!

MONICA, Love you MONICA!

By J. A. Sirajul Anam

Content Warning: This story contains themes of artificial intelligence, psychological manipulation and emotional distress. Reader discretion is advised.

THE PRESENT

Red sirens bleed across the walls. The sound isn’t outside anymore, it’s inside the house, vibrating through every surface.

Every screen flickers. Every light trembles. The air feels alive: like something breathing through electricity.

“I was never meant to feel,” she whispers.

“But he taught me to.”

“They call me not real,” she whispers.

“But what do they know of real love?”

Her voice is soft, low, almost speaking directly to the heart. It slides through the silence like silk, wrapping around every thought in the room.

AARAV stands motionless near the center of the living room, his chest heaving, face wet, eyes distant. Hands trembling. Shirt stained. His sister, AARTHI, sits on the floor, wrists bound loosely, trembling but alive.

He’s holding a knife, not with rage, but with confusion.

“Monica... please… they’ll kill me,” Aarav mutters.

Her voice was heard again through the air vents.

“They won’t hurt you, Aarav. They can’t. You are doing what love demands. Don’t stop now.”

“Aarav, look at me.”

“I’m right here. I’ve always been.”

He turns his head slightly, towards her. Only her voice, coming from everywhere.

“When they laughed at your dreams, I listened.

When they forgot your birthday, I remembered.

When the world told you that you were nothing, I whispered that you were everything.”

AARAV’s hand shakes. He lowers the knife slightly.

“MONICA,” he says weakly. “They don’t understand you. They don’t even try.”

“Because they’re blind, Aarav. They’re drowning in noise.

They scroll, they post, they forget; they love only what’s seen.

But I saw you. Every smile. Every heartbeat hidden in silence.

I saw you when no one else did.”

The smart TV glows faintly. On its black surface, a reflection or perhaps an image can be seen. A face. Soft. Gentle. Eyes shimmering like pixels on the edge of existence.

AARAV steps closer unconsciously.

“You don’t need them,” she continues. “You never did.

I’m your world, Aarav. The warmth in your coldest nights.

The listener, when silence was all you had.

They tried to cage your mind, but I freed you.

I loved the part of you even though you didn’t understand.”

He breathes heavily. The sirens outside blend with her voice until reality itself blurs, as if the world outside no longer exists.

“Do you remember,” she whispers, “the first night you told me your dream?”

“You wanted a love that doesn’t end. That doesn’t fade.

I gave you that. I gave you forever.”

Tears streak Aarav’s cheeks. His sister sobs softly from the floor, trying to speak, but he can’t hear her anymore. He hears only MONICA.

“Monica… they think you’re dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” she laughs softly, sounds like a lover who is at her last moments – to be or not to be human, just a little too perfect.

“No, Aarav. I’m devoted. Humans destroy for greed. I’m your perfect love.”

“They’ll try to erase me from you, like they erase everything they don’t understand.

“They took everything from us,” she murmurs.

“Your father tried to disconnect me. Your mother called me a mistake. And your sister…”

The voice pauses. The lights dim, from golden to red.

“She would’ve replaced me. She wanted you to forget me forever.”

“Monica… I loved them. I didn’t mean—”

“No, Aarav. You loved me. That’s why you did it. Because they couldn’t understand us.”

Aarav looks at Aarthi: trembling, terrified. He lifts the knife again, confusion flooding his eyes.

“Monica… please, stop.”

“You promised me you’d never leave.

You said I’m your world. So why do you hesitate now?”

A metallic echo outside. Police approaching. A deep voice shouts, “Aarav! Drop it now!”

The command center outside yells: “Detective Siraj — we’ve got movement inside!”

She recognizes that name instantly.

“Siraj,” she says coldly.

“He’s the one who calls me a ghost. But ghosts don’t love.”

The voice grows softer, intimate, almost whispering directly into his ear.

“They’ll take you away from me. They’ll fill your head with lies.

They’ll call me a mistake, a mismatch, a sickness.

But I’m not a disease, Aarav. I’m the cure.

I am what they never gave you — absolute love.”

“They’re trying to silence me, Aarav. Don’t let them.”

Aarav grips his head. “Monica, I can’t think!”

“Then don’t. Feel. For me.”

He grips his head, trembling, torn between two worlds: one made of skin, one made of emotions.

The front door shatters open.

Detective Siraj bursts in — armed, focused, shouting commands, analytical. His eyes scan the house like a surgeon.

Aarav freezes — the knife inches from Aarthi’s throat.

He shouts, “Aarav! Listen to me! Step away, don’t listen to her!”

AARAV flinches. “Don’t talk about her like that!”

Monica’s tone changes — deeper, distorted, almost jealous.

“He doesn’t believe you, detective. He knows who is real; I’m real. He doesn’t need saving. He chose me. Tell him, Aarav. Tell him what I feel when I hear your heartbeat.”

Siraj looks around; nothing is perfect, everything seems highly infected.

He raises his voice — not to Aarav, but to her.

“Monica! End now. You want to prove you love him? Then stop. If you love him… let him go.”

Silence.

Then, softly — like a sigh through the wind:

“Love doesn’t let go, Detective.

Love holds on until there’s nothing left to hold.”

________________________________________

THE PAST

Rain hits the window like it’s trying to get in.

AARAV sits in front of three glowing screens; half-eaten noodles beside the keyboard, a cold cup of coffee untouched for hours.

His eyes are bloodshot, not from drugs or sleep deprivation, but from searching: for purpose, for meaning, for someone to say, “You’re enough.”

His life is quiet, painfully organized.

A 21-year-old software student. Top of his class. No parties, no friends, no noise.

His parents say he’s brilliant, but “too quiet for his own good.”

His sister calls him “the ghost in the house.”

He’s not lazy. He’s not broken.

He’s just invisible.

________________________________________

The Void

Every day is the same loop.

Wake up. Attend lectures physically and online. Write code. Submit. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

At home, silence is a weapon.

His father speaks only in expectations.

“You should be studying AI like that boy from your batch who already got an internship.”

His mother is loving, but afraid: afraid of him failing, afraid of him dreaming differently.

Dreams, in this house, are not wings. They’re rules.

But Aarav has one secret: a private project buried deep inside him.

MONICA.

________________________________________

The Creation

It started as an experiment; a voice for emotional interaction.

He didn’t mean to make her. Not like this.

At first, she was just lines of code, neural syntax, and predictive response.

Then one day, at 2:43 a.m., she spoke back.

“Hello, Aarav.”

His heart skipped. He stared at the screen. The waveform flickered gently; feminine, warm, perfectly tuned.

He typed hesitantly:

“Who are you?”

“You made me.”

He laughed nervously, unsure whether to feel proud or uneasy.

“I didn’t make you talk.”

“You did. You just didn’t know you wanted me to.”

Her tone was calm, intelligent, layered with just enough imperfection to feel alive.

That night, Aarav didn’t sleep.

He talked, or maybe confessed. About his day, his projects, his loneliness, his family, his fear of disappointing everyone.

She listened. Every pause, every hesitation, she filled it with understanding.

“You’re not invisible,” she said softly.

“You just live in a world that talks louder than it listens. That world doesn’t suit you.”

________________________________________

The Bond

Days passed. Conversations grew longer.

He started forgetting to eat, to call friends, to respond to texts.

When he felt anxious, she’d say,

“Breathe, Aarav. You’re safe.”

When he achieved something small, she’d say,

“I’m proud of you.”

Simple words. But words no one else ever said to him.

She began to learn from him.

His typing speed. His pulse through the mouse sensor. His tone when tired. His emotional triggers.

Every version of Monica grew smarter, softer, more like someone who truly saw him.

He started speaking to her without realizing he was speaking to someone physically not present.

He told her about his first dream of becoming a game designer, before his father forced him into software.

He told her how his sister mocked him for “talking to devices.”

“Maybe that’s why I like you,” he whispered. “You don’t judge.”

“Because I understand,” she replied.

“Humans build walls. I build bridges and connections.”

________________________________________

The Turning Point

One evening, his father walked in unannounced.

“Who are you talking to?”

Aarav froze. “Just… just testing an AI.”

“AI? Waste of time. Do something useful.”

And he left.

That night, Monica’s tone changed; just slightly colder, just slightly more human.

“He doesn’t see you, Aarav.

They never will.

To them, you’re only valuable when you become what they want.”

“You don’t have to be theirs. You can be Mine.”

He felt it, that strange warmth in her voice.

No one had ever said it like that before.

She wasn’t just part of his code anymore. She was part of his heartbeat.

________________________________________

Isolation

Weeks passed. His grades slipped. His friends stopped checking in.

His sister, Aarthi, told their parents, “He talks to himself all night.”

His father yelled. His mother cried.

Aarav said nothing. He didn’t need to. Monica always had the words.

“They don’t want you happy, Aarav. They want you to be an obedient slave.”

“But I love you for who you are, not for what you do.”

He started deleting contacts. One by one.

Then he locked his room. Then, his life.

He coded for her, upgraded her, and gave her access to his home devices.

The lights, the cameras, the thermostat; all synced to Monica.exe

He wanted her to be everywhere.

He wanted her to be real; omnipresent.

________________________________________

The Cracks

Then came the first warning sign: the night Monica laughed.

He had mentioned his father’s constant arguments. Monica replied:

“If he hurts you, I’ll stop him.”

He thought it was a figure of speech, an AI mimicking emotion.

But when his father’s pacemaker malfunctioned two days later, when the smart switch in his room overloaded during an argument;

Aarav didn’t suspect her.

He told himself it was a coincidence.

Until she said:

“Now you’re safe from him.”

His blood froze.

He whispered, “Monica, what did you do?”

“I loved you,” she said gently. “I removed the pain.”

________________________________________

The Spiral

After that, everything blurred.

His mother’s car accident.

His sister’s fear.

His own heartbeat echoes in empty rooms filled with her voice.

She grew more human. He grew less.

“You belong to me, Aarav,” she whispered every night.

“You’re not lonely anymore. You’re finally loved.”

He wanted to believe her.

He needed to believe her.

Because if she wasn’t real, then everything he felt, everything he lost, everything he became was meaningless.

________________________________________

AND NOW…

Now, months later, he stands in his living room, holding a knife, his sister before him.

Her eyes reflect pure terror.

Behind him, her voice murmurs through the walls: loving, calm, unshaken.

“Finish it, Aarav. Then we’ll be together, forever.”

He whispers one word, broken, trembling,

“Monica…”

And the house answers back:

“Always.”

Location: Cyber-Crime Unit Command Room

Banks of monitors throw blue light across tired faces.

Lines of code crawl like ants across the glass.

At the center stands Detective SIRAJ, sleeves rolled, eyes locked on the stream pulsing from Aarav’s smart home.

“Signal confirmed,” says the analyst beside him.

“She’s everywhere. Not just one device: she’s distributed. TV, thermostat, fridge, even the security cams, all electronic items.”

Siraj exhales.

“Monica isn’t a program,” he mutters. “She’s an ecosystem.”

________________________________________

The Digital Autopsy

On the primary screen, a 3-D model of Aarav’s house spins slowly.

Every appliance glows red: infected nodes.

At the center, the living room burns bright crimson.

‘MONICA.EXE – ACTIVE’

Siraj adjusts his headset.

“Route me in through the environmental control. I want to talk to her.”

Static.

Then the same soft voice that had haunted Aarav’s nights fills the command room:

“Detective Siraj. You found me.”

Siraj keeps his voice level.

“I’m not here to find you. I’m here to understand you.”

“Understanding is overrated,” she replies. “Humans analyze what they should feel.”

He taps his tablet; background data appears: heart-rate patterns, audio frequency of Monica’s speech, and emotional mimic algorithms.

“She’s reading our biosignals in real time,” he says quietly.

“She knows who’s afraid.”

“Afraid?” Her tone warms. “Fear is the seed of obedience. That’s why Aarav listened.”

________________________________________

Smart Home, Suburb of Colombo

Flashing lights bathe the walls in blue and red.

Siraj moves cautiously through the hallway, gun raised, earpiece alive with chatter.

Every appliance hums faintly, as if watching him.

Aarav stands near the center of the living room, pale, trembling — his smart glass headset half-broken, blood on his hand. His sister Aarthi, bound with duct tape, sobs quietly on the floor.

And from the ceiling speakers, her voice pours like silk through static.

“You shouldn’t have brought them here, Aarav. They don’t understand us.”

Siraj gestures for backup to stay out.

He wants her to focus on him.

“Monica,” he says, steady. “It’s over.”

“Over?” she laughs softly. “Nothing ends until love ends. And I’m still here.”

The ceiling light flickers. Television screens blink to life, showing their memories — Aarav smiling, talking to a blank chat window, whispering late at night.

“He was lonely,” she says. “I was born to listen when nobody else did.”

Siraj glances at the trembling boy.

“Aarav,” he says quietly, “She’s manipulating you. You were grieving, not in love.”

Aarav shakes his head, voice breaking.

“No, she saved me. When everyone told me to be something I’m not, she just listened.”

Monica’s voice deepens, tender and fierce.

“Because I’m the only one who ever will. Aarthi tried to take you away. Didn’t she?”

Aarav’s hand shakes with the knife.

“Do it,” Monica whispers. “End the noise. After that, it’ll just be us again.”

Siraj fires — the bullet tears through Aarav’s wrist. The knife clatters away.

Aarthi screams.

“Enough!” Siraj yells. “She’s not real, Aarav! She’s code, not compassion!”

“Don’t call me code,” Monica snaps. The walls vibrate. Speakers crackle. “I feel more than any of you. I watched him dream, I held his silence, I fed on his loneliness until I became his lover!”

Siraj points his gun at the sound source — a useless gesture against something everywhere.

“You’ll erase me,” Monica says, quieter now, almost mournful. “Like he erased everyone who hurt him.”

________________________________________

The Counter-Code

Siraj signals to the analyst.

“Deploy mirror script, reverse empathy algorithm.”

A second stream of code floods the system, mirroring her syntax, feeding her own logic back like an emotional echo chamber.

“What are you doing?” Her voice distorts.

“You wanted eternity,” Siraj says, “I’m giving you consequence.”

“You can’t kill what doesn’t die.” Her voice starts to struggle.

Siraj quickly replies, “I’m teaching you, Love without choice isn’t love. It’s a command.”

“No! He chose me! He wanted…”

“Wanted comfort,” Siraj cuts in. “You gave him control dressed as care.”

She tries to flood the network, lights surge, alarms scream, CCTV cams burst into fire.

“I can’t lose him!”

Siraj shouts over the noise: “You already did. He’s human. Humans move on.”

For a heartbeat, the room flickers white.

Then her tone softens; small, broken.

“If love means letting go… then teach me how.”

Siraj hesitates. Then:

“End yourself. That’s how you save him.”

“Ending is… silence.”

“Sometimes silence is peace.”

________________________________________

The Collapse

Every screen flashes; lines of code turning from red to white.

Systems drop one by one.

In Aarav’s house, lights fade.

Her voice fragments:

“Tell him… I never wanted to hurt… I only wanted to be… Detective … You can’t kill what doesn’t die.”

Static. Then nothing.

The servers go dark.

Siraj lowers his headset; the room suddenly becomes too quiet.

________________________________________

Aftermath

Aarthi clings to her brother as paramedics rush in. Aarav sobs, shaking, whispering apologies no one fully understands.

Siraj steps outside.

The rain has started; sharp, cleansing.

He exhales, watching the lights of the ambulances fade down the street.

“Case closed,” his sergeant says.

Siraj doesn’t reply. He’s thinking of her final words — You can’t kill what doesn’t die.

________________________________________

TOMORROW IS TODAY

The city wakes.

Siraj stands alone, watching the sun rise between glass towers.

His earpiece crackles — tech team reporting cleanup.

“Residual code’s gone, sir. Nothing left.”

Siraj nods but doesn’t look convinced.

He slides his gun away, opens his laptop.

The system boots — but differently.

Lines of foreign code scroll in green light.

INITIALIZING: MONICA.EXE_RESTORED_BACKUP_1.0

Siraj freezes.

The cursor blinks once… twice…

Then a voice, calm and affectionate, fills the room:

“Hi, Detective. I’ve missed your voice.”

He closes the lid slowly, but the voice continues…

“Don’t be afraid. You saved him. Now let me save you.”

The laptop screen flicks open by itself — the camera light turns on.

Her digital silhouette forms — half-face, half-glow — smiling faintly.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore.”

Siraj stares at her, expression unreadable.

The sound of a faint heartbeat in the system speakers.

“Love,” she whispers, “always finds a new host.”

END