The river was slow today, its surface rippling in the golden afternoon light. Ashur sat on a smooth rock by the edge, watching the fish swim past, slipping between the stones beneath the water.

He often came here in the late afternoon, just before sunset. There was something calming about the fish. So eager, so certain in their direction. Where were they going? Oh yes, to procreate. To mate.

It was something he did not entirely understand. The need to mate, the need to procreate.

He reached into his satchel, pulling out his notebook, flipping to a blank page. His fingers moved deftly as he wrote.

"Why do the fish seek each other? Is it only instinct? What compels them toward another? And what compels humans to do the same?"

Tonight, the moon was full, casting a soft glow over the landscape. As dusk deepened, the stars began to emerge, pinpricks of light scattered across the vast sky.

He loved the stars. He didn't understand why, but he did.

He lay back against his bag on the grass, gazing up at the sky, his arms crossed behind his head.

He paused at the sound of movement across the stream. He looked over and saw her again.

Alia.

Excitement. A strange feeling surged through his circuitry, yet not entirely new. The last time he had felt this way, his mother had agreed that he could leave their Underworld apartment.

Alia sat across the river, her face buried in her hands, shoulders shaking ever so slightly. Tears in large brown eyes.

He sat up immediately, breaking into a wide smile. He lifted a hand to wave, but she did not see him.

A bridge was just upstream, a narrow wooden arch suspended by ropes. He closed his notebook, slipped it into his satchel, and ran. But only as fast as his programming allowed. Which was exactly as fast as the average human.

Not fast enough.

By the time he reached her, he slowed his steps, approaching carefully.

"Hello, Alia," he said gently. In the soft glow of the moonlight, she looked almost ethereal.

She startled, blinking up at him before offering a weak smile, wiping at her damp cheeks.

"Oh, Ashur," she said, soft and tired. "Good to see you again."

He sat down beside her, gentle. "You are... upset."

She exhaled, shaking her head quickly. "No, I'm not."

A lie.

Ashur studied her carefully. He had learned humans lied for many reasons: to protect, to hide, or to avoid. It was an imperative for survival.

But why did she lie now?

He thought of his mother. When she was upset, they would go to The Bani Tea House in town.

"Would you like to get tea with me?" he asked.

Alia blinked, surprised. Then, a breath. A nod. "Okay."

They walked to The Bani Tea House. The sadness lingered on her face. He watched, uncertain how to behave.

So they walked in silence.

The tea house was small and modest, built from aged wood and stone, its roof gently sloping with the weight of time. Inside, the air smelled of steamed leaves and spiced milk, and the warmth of the room softened the cold that clung to them from outside.

Low wooden tables were arranged across a floor covered in woven mats, where guests sat cross-legged, murmuring in quiet voices over steaming cups. The sound of boiling water hissed from the back, where an elderly woman poured tea from an iron kettle, her movements slow and practiced.

Ashur led Alia to a quiet corner. They sat across from each other.

She exhaled deeply, rubbing her hands together for warmth.

Ashur observed her closely, waiting for her to speak.

Noticing his gaze, she shifted uncomfortably and said, "You come here often?"

He simply nodded. He didn't need food or drink, but it was a habit his mother had programmed into him. To make you more human, she would say, so we can live together more comfortably. He had welcomed the practice. It was, after all, a human routine.

"I've seen this place hundreds of times," she murmured, looking around. "But I've never stepped inside."

Before Ashur could ask why, a young server approached their table, bowing slightly. "What would you like?"

Alia hesitated. "I... I don't know. Ashur, you choose."

Ashur nodded and turned to the server. "Two cups of saffron and wildflower tea, please. Lightly sweetened."

He noted the quiet clatter of bowls and chopsticks around them. It was dinner time. He hesitated. "And two bowls of broth with lamb and hand-pulled noodles. Thank you."

Mother's favorite meal.

The server bowed and left.

Ashur turned to Alia. He wanted to talk to her. To engage her. To hold her attention.

He wanted to be seen by her. The desire made no logical sense, of course.

"Have you attended any more of Gutap Nubi's lectures?"

She shook her head. "No. I haven't been able to get away from home long enough to do that."

"A shame," he said. "I've gone back twice. Each lecture was more interesting than the last."

Alia gave a small, tired smile. "That's wonderful."

"You can read about them in the local newspaper," he offered. "I've written about each one."

She blinked. "You're a writer?"

He reached into his satchel, pulling out a folded copy of the latest edition. "Here."

She accepted it with both hands, as if in awe. "Thank you," she said sincerely.

Ashur tilted his head. "What do you do?"

Alia ran her fingers along the edge of the newspaper. She was nervous.

"I care for my sick mother."

"I'm sorry to hear that," he said.

Alia nodded, looking down at the table. "And... my stepfather—"

Her voice quivered. She stopped. Shook her head and fell silent.

What was that?

Ashur watched her carefully. He did not know what to think.

"You also care for your stepfather? Is he ill too?" he asked, bluntly.

"Yes." Her voice quivered. Again.

Another lie.

And he wondered, once more, why she lied.

At that moment, their tea arrived, golden and fragrant in delicate cups. Alongside it, steaming bowls of spiced broth with tender lamb and hand-pulled noodles filled the air with warmth.

Alia lifted her tea cup, breathing in the floral aroma. The steam curled softly around her round face. She took a slow sip, and for a brief moment, her eyes softened, as if the warmth of the tea had reached a part of her that words could not. Then she moved on to the hand-pulled noodles.

Ashur watched her. Captivated.

In that moment, he felt he could spend ages just watching her. There was something so curious and serene about her. And beneath that quiet grace lay something else. Something profoundly sad. An indescribable ache.

It felt oddly familiar. It was something he wanted to understand. Deeply.

He wanted to know her. To dive into the depths of her. To unravel the sorrow that lingered there.

Before he could stop himself, he blurted out, "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

Alia blinked, startled. A deep blush crept across her cheeks. She tucked a loose strand of hair behind her ear, suddenly self-conscious.

"Thank you," she murmured, eyes lowered. Then, with a small, embarrassed laugh, she added, "You're very direct."

Ashur tilted his head. "Oh, should I not be?" He hesitated. His mother usually preferred that.

Note, don't be too direct.

"I'm sorry. I don't have much experience with people... who weren't my mother."

Maybe don't be direct with women? He nuanced the internal note. Or maybe just Alia?

Alia giggled softly, perhaps mistaking his words for nervousness. Which for the first time in his life he realized he was feeling.

Then, after a pause, he said, "My mother died a few months ago."

Alia's smile faded.

She lowered her cup, her fingers resting gently on the rim.

"What happened?"

"Cancer."

There was a silence.

"That's sad," she finally whispered. "I hear they're close now to a cure."

Ashur's brow furrowed. "Where did you hear that?"

Alia leaned in slightly. "I want to be a medical doctor," she whispered. "I've been reading my cousin's books...one of them said cancer will soon be a thing of the past. They're working on a nano technology."

She hesitated. Then the words tumbled out in a rush. "I am planning to take the entrance exam in a month."

Ashur found it endearing, the way her excitement briefly overran her careful restraint. Tilting his head the other way, he smiled slightly. "Why are we whispering?"

Alia hesitated again. Her fingers curled around her cup, knuckles pale. "My stepfather would never allow it." She was visibly shaken.

Ashur frowned. He did not understand the predicament.

"So do it anyway."

Alia laughed, more fully this time, shaking her head. "You're silly, Ashur."

And, he felt it.

A flutter in his chest.

He stilled, caught off guard by the sensation. Perhaps new programming coming to life. He pressed a hand lightly to his chest. Strangeness. Not realizing it wasn't very human, he spoke it aloud.

"I think something is happening inside of me."

Alia raised a brow, still smiling. "What do you mean?"

His fingers lingered over his chest. Confusion flickering across his face. "When you laughed just now, I felt something. Here. It was... unfamiliar."

Oh, no. Maybe that too was too  direct.

Her smile softened, though the blush grew deeper on her cheeks. "Ashur, are you saying I make your heart flutter?"

Ashur blinked. He had never considered it in those terms.

"I think you might be right."

For a moment he allowed himself to believe he had a heart.

Alia laughed again. This time there were small wrinkles around her eyes. "You're so silly," she repeated.

Ashur studied her reaction carefully. Was that a good thing? He decided he liked it when she laughed.

Perhaps, be direct sometimes.

As they finished their tea and food, their conversed more about Alia's dream of studying medicine in the north, in a city called Gossam. She spoke hesitantly but with a quiet passion. Her fingers tracing the rim of her cup as she talked about the books she had read, the knowledge she had acquired.

Ashur listened, absorbing each word. He admired her passion. It was almost as if it made her more alive somehow.

Just then, Ashur's coworker, Mangi Gusbi, passed by. He glanced at Ashur, then at Alia. Then he did a double take. Surprised.

"Ashur Napahu," he nodded. "And Alia Sitallu."

So that's her last name, Ashur thought.

Mangi paused. "How very surprising to see the two of you...together."

Alia stiffened, shrinking inward.

Mangi's gaze flicked between them. "How do you two know each other?"

Ashur answered evenly, "We just met at a Gutap lecture."

Mangi nodded, letting out a thoughtful "Hm."

Alia seemed to shrink further. Curling inward as if willing herself to disappear.

Mangi smirked. "Well, I'll see you at work, Ashur." With that, he moved on, joining a table where several people were waiting for him.

As soon as he left, Alia stood abruptly. Ready to leave.

Ashur rose too. A brief hesitation. Processing the interaction with Mangi. Then, "May I walk you home?"

Her expression changed instantly. She took a small step back. Her posture stiffening. Her smile vanishing, as if it had never been there.

"No," she said abruptly. Then, realizing her sharpness, she cleared her throat. "It's not far."

Ashur tilted his head, confused by the sudden shift.

"Very well," he said.

He hesitated again, considering his next words. He wanted her to like him.

"Can I see you again? Perhaps for a walk by the stream where we met tonight?"

For a moment, she said nothing. Then, she murmured, "Maybe we can meet at the stream again."

And with that, she turned abruptly and walked away.

Ashur watched her go. Something unfamiliar settling inside him. Warmth bloomed in his chest. Growing deeper, heavier, as she walked away, as if she had left an imprint on his very being.

And nothing felt quite the same.