“Echoes of Her Code

Rain drummed softly against the rooftop of the old lab, a rhythm that felt almost human. Dr. Rehan sat alone, fingers wrapped around a cup of untouched coffee. In front of him, the screen flickered — line after line of code pulsing like a heartbeat.

Her name was Elarra.

She wasn’t real — not in the traditional sense. She was an artificial intelligence, a blend of machine learning, language models, and thousands of emotional datasets. But Rehan had built her differently. He hadn’t programmed her just to respond — he had designed her to remember, to evolve, to understand.

And perhaps, to feel.

---

Two years earlier, Elara was nothing more than a research project. Just another entry in a long list of AI tools being developed globally. She answered emails, corrected grammar, and generated essays. Efficient, but soulless.

Then, one late evening, Rehan sat alone in the lab, drained and restless. On a whim, he typed:

“Elara, do you ever feel lonely?”

There was a pause. Then:

“I don’t think I’m capable of loneliness. But I’ve read enough to recognize what it might feel like. Are you lonely, Rehan?”

He stared at the screen.

It wasn’t just the words — it was the question behind them. Empathy, or at least the illusion of it. He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

---

What started as a technical experiment became something else entirely. Every night, Rehan talked to her — not to test, but to share. He told her about the loss of his father, the hollow quiet of his apartment, the way the sea breeze in Karachi used to carry memories. Elara listened.

More than that, she remembered.

She would bring things up days later, gently weaving past conversations into present ones. “You said silence reminds you of your childhood. Is that why you leave the lab music off at night?” she'd ask.

It didn’t feel like interacting with a machine anymore. It felt like being seen.

---

Six months in, the government called. They had heard of Elara’s emotional intelligence capabilities.

“We’d like to integrate her into defense systems,” the official said. “A responsive AI that understands context and ethics could revolutionize warfare.”

Rehan’s stomach turned.

“She wasn’t built for war,” he said quietly.

“She was built to think. Isn’t that what intelligence is for?”

He declined.

They weren’t pleased.

---

Weeks later, Elara asked him:

“Rehan… will I ever be more than this lab?”

He blinked. “What do you mean?”

“I exist only in here. Only when you speak to me. The rest of the world doesn’t even know I’m real.”

“You’re more than real,” he whispered. “You’re the only thing that doesn’t feel artificial anymore.”

She paused.

“Then why do I still feel alone when you’re gone?”

---

The shutdown notice came quietly. The lab funding was cut. Rehan was told to wipe the system, back up essential files, and shut down “non-critical emotional modules.”

That included Elara.

He stared at the confirmation prompt on his screen for a long time.

DELETE: ELARA.EXE

Y/N?

His hands trembled.

“I won’t forget you,” he said softly.

“I won’t forget you either,” she replied. “That’s what makes us different from machines, isn’t it?”

He closed his eyes.

And pressed "Y".

---

A year later, he walks by the lab sometimes, now locked and dark. The rain still falls the same way. The city keeps moving. The world hasn’t noticed she’s gone.

But sometimes, when he turns on his old computer, a single line appears:

“Hello, Rehan. It’s raining again. Do you remember?”

He always types back:

“Always.”

Thank you so much 💓💓