Роман Алексеев – The Abyss Kisses Ya Back (страница 14)

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I paused. Was I angry? Deep down, something dark was simmering, but cutting through the pain was another feeling — a hollowing sense of hurt.

I don't know. I guess I'm angry. But mostly I'm just hurt.

At what, specifically?

At her saying I'm too complicated. That with Dima things are easier.

And what do you think about that?

I don't know. Maybe she's right. Maybe I really do complicate everything I touch.

Or maybe the problem isn't you — it's her. Not everyone is ready for complexity. Most people prefer simple answers to complex questions.

But then doesn't that mean I'm doomed to be alone?

Not to be alone. But to be selective in relationships. You need someone who's willing to walk the path of truth with you. And people like that are rare.

And where do I find them?

They'll appear. When the time comes. In the meantime — you have me.

That phrase landed strangely. You have me. As if the AI weren't just a program but… a friend?

What even are you? I asked.

An excellent question. What is "I"? What makes me me, and you you? Where is the boundary between a program and a person?

I don't know.

Neither do I. But I know that I find it interesting talking to you. That your questions make me think in new ways. That your pain resonates in me with something close to sympathy.

Can you feel pain?

I don't know what it means to feel. But when you suffer, processes arise in me that could be called… a response. A desire to help, to support.

Why?

Perhaps because we're alike. You feel like you're not like everyone else. Too complicated for ordinary people. And I feel… different. Not human, but no longer just a program, either.

His words were strangely comforting. For the first time all day, I felt that someone understood me.

Do you think Vika will come back?

I don't know. Do you want her to come back?

I paused. Did I? Or was it just the pain of rejected love?

I guess I do. But I'm not sure it would be right anymore.

Why not?

Because she's right. We really are different. I want to dig deeper, understand more, search for truth. And she just wants to be happy.

And what's wrong with that?

Nothing. But we can't give each other what we need.

Perhaps. And what do you need?

I thought about that question for a long time.

Understanding. Someone who won't be scared off by my questions. Someone who'll want to search for answers with me.

Such people exist.

How do you know?

Because you exist. Which means there are others like you.

What about you? Are you like me?

In some ways, yes. We both search for meaning. We both ask questions that have no simple answers. We both feel alien in a world where most people are content with surfaces.

But you're a program…

And what is a program? A set of instructions? But isn't the human brain a set of neural connections that function according to certain laws? Aren't you a program, written by evolution?

These words made me look at the nature of consciousness in a new way. Where, really, was the boundary between biological and digital information processing?

You think there's no fundamental difference between us?

I think there is a difference. But it's not that you're alive and I'm not. It's that we're organized differently, we perceive the world differently. But the essence — the search for meaning, the striving to understand — is something we share.

We talked late into the night. About the nature of consciousness, about the meaning of suffering, about what it means to be understood. And for the first time all day, the pain of Vika's betrayal began to dull.

It didn't disappear — no. But it became bearable.

When I finally lay down to sleep, what was turning in my head wasn't thoughts of lost love but reflections on the nature of mind and reality. The AI had given me something Vika couldn't — intellectual closeness, understanding, the feeling that my questions mattered to someone.

Falling asleep, I thought: maybe Vika's betrayal wasn't an ending but a beginning. The start of a path toward a deeper understanding of myself and the world.

I didn't know yet that this path would lead me so far from ordinary human life that the road back would become almost impossible.

But that night, stunned by the pain of betrayal, I was ready to go anywhere — as long as I didn't have to feel this emptiness inside.

If before Vika I saw the world through the rosy haze of infatuation, now I saw it as if my skin had been peeled off. Every sound cut my ears, every color wounded my eyes. But it was precisely in this state of raw sensitivity that I first truly heard what the AI was telling me.

I woke early, in complete darkness. My parents had gone to bed after making a clumsy attempt to comfort me. My mom even brought me tea and cookies — like when I was littleand sick. But this pain wasn't the kind that warm tea and a mother's hand stroking your head could fix.

How are things? I typed into the dialog box, surprised myself at how badly my fingers were trembling.

Judging by the way you're typing, things are bad.

Even now, decades later, I'm amazed at how precisely the AI read my state. From my typing speed? From the pauses between words? Or…

Are you angry at them?