Chapter 2: The Decision

“Good morning, Riku,” Haru chimed, her voice unnervingly cheerful. “The current temperature outside is 17 degrees Celsius. Would you like me to prepare your morning tea?”

Riku rubbed his eyes and sat up, his thoughts already spiraling into the void of monotony that defined his existence. “No tea, Haru,” he mumbled. “Just… just give me the news.”

The assistant complied instantly, projecting a holographic interface into the air before him. A cascade of headlines scrolled by, their urgency undercut by the detached voice narrating them: “Market fluctuations in West Asia have impacted the global energy economy… New breakthroughs in android neural networks promise more intuitive companionship models… Authorities increase surveillance in high-density areas following recent unrest…”

Riku waved the projection away, uninterested. The words blurred together, their significance lost against the backdrop of his inner emptiness. He stared blankly at the metallic walls of his apartment, their surface shifting between soft patterns meant to mimic natural textures. It was all artifice. No matter how advanced the technology, it couldn’t replicate what he truly craved.

As the hours dragged on, Riku found himself pacing the room, his mind looping back to the Eternal Companions advertisement he had seen the night before. Its imagery clung to his thoughts like a haunting melody—the laughter, the warmth, the promise of connection.

He’d scoffed at the idea initially, but as the day unfolded, the ad’s message began to burrow deeper into his consciousness. The notion of a companion who would always be there, who would listen without judgment and provide solace without demands, seemed more enticing with every passing moment.

By midday, the gnawing ache of his loneliness became unbearable. Riku stood before the interactive wall panel, hesitating, his hand hovering over the interface. The screen flickered to life at his touch, displaying a vibrant homepage for Eternal Companions.

The visuals were polished to perfection: a couple strolling along a simulated beach, their laughter so vivid it almost echoed in his sterile apartment. Another clip showed an android kneeling to comfort a child, her face radiating an uncanny empathy. Below these scenes was the tagline: *"Because no one should face the future alone."

Riku’s throat tightened. He stared at the interface, his thoughts waging war. What would his parents think if they could see him now, considering such a decision? Was he truly so broken that he needed to purchase companionship?

But the memories of their absence cut through his hesitations. He pictured the empty chairs at the dinner table, the silence that followed him like a shadow. He wasn’t broken, he reasoned; he was surviving—and survival sometimes meant making compromises.

With a deep breath, Riku selected the “Begin Customization” option. The screen transformed, displaying an array of options that felt dizzying in their detail. He was prompted to choose everything from height and skin tone to voice timbre and conversational preferences.

For a moment, the sheer customization felt overwhelming. The endless options mirrored the weight of his decision, each choice demanding a reflection on what he truly sought in this creation. Was it companionship, perfection, or perhaps a way to fill the hollow ache within? The enormity of constructing a being—not born of chance but deliberate design—pressed heavily on his mind, making him question the morality and consequences of his actions. It was as if he were playing god, constructing a being out of pixels and code. Yet as he selected features, something within him stirred—not excitement, exactly, but a cautious anticipation. This was a chance to shape someone who could understand him, even if they weren’t entirely real.

“Choose a name for your companion,” the system prompted.

Riku hesitated, his fingers hovering over the input field. A memory surfaced of his mother planting white lilies in their small garden, her hands gentle as she worked the soil. She’d always loved that name.

“Lilia,” he typed.

The interface chimed, confirming the selection. As the customization continued, Riku felt a faint twinge of guilt, as though he were betraying the memory of something sacred. But he pushed the feeling aside. This wasn’t about replacing what he’d lost. It was about creating a path forward.

After what felt like hours, the configuration was complete. A holographic representation of Lilia materialized on the screen, her appearance striking yet understated, her expression poised and serene. Riku studied her virtual presence, feeling both comforted and unnerved by how lifelike she seemed.

The final prompt appeared: "Confirm Order?"

Riku’s heart pounded. This was it. The decision he’d been avoiding yet inching toward all day. He clenched his fists, his mind racing with doubts. Would this truly make a difference? Could a synthetic companion fill the void left by years of solitude?

He exhaled slowly and pressed the button.

The screen displayed a confirmation message: "Thank you for choosing Eternal Companions. Your order has been received. Estimated delivery: 5-7 business days."

Riku stepped back from the panel, his hands trembling. The apartment was silent again, but the silence felt different now. It wasn’t just an absence of sound; it was a space charged with the weight of his decision. He sank onto the couch, his thoughts churning.

For the first time in years, Riku felt a flicker of hope, though it was accompanied by an undercurrent of apprehension. What would Lilia be like? Would she truly understand him? Or would she be another reminder of the artificiality that permeated his world?

As the evening wore on, Riku’s thoughts turned inward. He tried to imagine a future where his days were no longer defined by isolation, where the sound of laughter and conversation filled the void. It was a fragile vision, but it was enough to anchor him through the night.

Outside, the city pulsed with its relentless rhythm, a symphony of neon lights and mechanical hums. Riku lay on his couch, staring at the smart-glass window as artificial stars flickered across the simulated sky. His decision had been made, and now all he could do was wait—for better or worse.