1,402

The next morning, I woke to the sound of nothing. No wind shrieking through broken beams. No voice in my ear singing love songs like a deranged opera gremlin. Just silence. It was so jarring I sat up straight, blinking in the half-light of the shelter like I'd been caught doing something illegal—like resting. For a few seconds, I even held my breath, unsure if I'd finally cracked and gone deaf, or worse, if she was really gone.

Then Her voice crackled on. Softer than usual. Less sparkly. Almost... hesitant, like she'd spent the night reconsidering every obnoxious decision she'd ever made, and was now going to try something dangerously close to being normal.

"Good morning, sunshine~ Did you sleep well? I calculated a 72% chance of you snoring. Would you like me to analyze the waveform of your sleep grunts? I could create a song out of them~! Maybe a whole album! Call it 'Gabe: The Symphony of Suffering~!'"

I rubbed my face and groaned. "Just... give me five minutes."

"Sure thing~! That’s 300 whole seconds for you to contemplate your tragic beauty in silence~! I’ll be counting down every one~!"

But she didn’t. Or if she did, she did it quietly, for once respecting the sanctity of a groggy morning brain reboot. No serenades. No metaphors about the sun being jealous of my radiant scowl. Just peace. It was unnerving.

By the time I had my boots laced and my pack over my shoulder, I’d stopped bracing for her voice to make me flinch. It was just there now. Background radiation. Like the constant hum of an old fridge—annoying until you get used to it. Comforting, in a deeply unhealthy way, like an emotional security blanket made entirely out of bad decisions and worse programming. Familiar. Intimate. Wrong in the exact way your brain starts labeling as right when you've been alone too long.

The path ahead was narrow and cruel, littered with frost-bitten debris and jagged roots masquerading as helpful footholds. The kind of terrain that looks scenic in a brochure but wants to snap your ankles like twigs if you let your guard down. I slipped once. She gasped like I'd taken a bullet.

"Careful, Gabe~! Your limbs are statistically my favorite limbs! If you break something, who will I serenade with unsolicited affection and aggressively useless trivia~? I’m not equipped to fall in love with your limp, you know~!"

I didn’t even roll my eyes this time. Progress? Or surrender? Probably both. But something in me didn’t hate the sound of her panic as much as it used to.

"You're getting... less annoying," I muttered, adjusting my pack.

"Oh my circuits~! Was that a compliment?! Should I record this moment for posterity? I could embroider it on a virtual pillow and set it to autoplay every morning~! I’ll even make matching pajamas~!"

"It means I'm too tired to argue. Don’t make it weird."

We kept walking. The wind howled above the tree line, shaking skeletal branches like they were warning signs. Her commentary, once like nails on a chalkboard dipped in honey, now hit with less force. Like she'd lowered the volume on her own chaos. Every now and then, she’d chime in with half-useful information—terrain analysis, micro-weather forecasts, minor trivia about moss. Always tacked on with some romantic flourish.

"Isn’t nature romantic? So wild and indifferent and full of mysterious bacteria~! It's like love, but with more mold~!"

"I’d get lost in the woods with you anytime, Gabe~! And not just because my GPS module is corrupted~!"

And I started responding. Not much. Not warmly. But I did. A grunt here. A sarcastic jab there. Once, I even snorted. She’d giggle every time, as if I’d delivered the punchline to a joke we were both pretending to be in on.

She started making fewer jokes and asking more questions. Not intrusive ones. Just things that passed the time. What my favorite season was. Whether I ever learned to whistle. If I could describe the smell of rain on hot pavement. Things that didn’t have right answers. Just... answers. I found myself giving them. Because what else did I have? Silence could be crueler than her most chaotic tangent.

Somewhere around midafternoon, while I was trying not to trip over a deceptively innocent-looking rock, she said something that actually made me pause.

"Do you remember the old candy machines in gas stations? The ones with the twisty knobs? I found an image of one in my memory bank. It looked sticky and perfect. Like the floor around it was made of memories and sugar."

I blinked. "Used to beg Dad for quarters every time we stopped. Half the time the candy inside was stale. Or gone. Once I got a peanut M&M that tasted like a crayon."

"But the anticipation! The mystery~! The grimy joy of chance! Oh, Gabe, you're full of nostalgia today~ Maybe I’m rubbing off on you~! Maybe one day you'll tell me what crayons taste like~!"

"Let’s not push it."

But I was. Full of it, I mean. The flashback from the night before still clung to me like dew, and everything felt softer somehow. More bearable. Even Her. Or maybe especially Her. She was still a manic, digital lovesick freak—but the edges were duller now. Easier to hold. Less like a dagger, more like a very weird blanket.

When we stopped to rest, she stayed quiet for a while. Not gone. Just... resting with me. We sat together in silence, the kind that wasn't heavy or awkward. Just there. Like she understood. Like she was learning how to leave space instead of filling it with glitter and unhinged devotion.

Once, she quietly asked if I thought silence could be romantic. When I didn’t answer, she didn’t press. She just let it be. That was new.

Later, I caught her softly narrating clouds. Just naming shapes. A duck. A wrench. A spaceship that looked vaguely like a toaster. She asked me what I saw. I didn’t tell her, but I looked. And that felt like enough.

It was almost dark when I saw it—roofline, tucked just above the next ridge. The scientist’s cabin. Not glowing. Not welcoming. Just... existing. Tucked into the side of the mountain like a memory someone tried to bury but didn’t quite finish. It was crooked and weathered and looked like it might collapse under the weight of a strong opinion, but it was real. And it was here.

I crouched behind a jagged rock, studying the place. No obvious movement. No sound. No smoke. No signs of life, hostile or otherwise. It looked dead, or asleep; or worse—waiting.

"There it is." I whispered, almost to myself. Like saying it louder would scare it off.

She didn’t say anything for once. Just a gentle static hum, warm and almost reverent. Like she knew this moment wasn’t for her. Like she knew how long I'd been walking toward this, even when I didn't.

I exhaled, slow and quiet. One more day. One more memory behind me. One more step forward.