Permanent acquAIntance

Jack sprawled on the couch, the worn leather sticking to his thighs, the TV remote loose in his grip. His foot tapped restlessly against the coffee table, the air thick with the faint tang of takeout.

He flipped through the channels: news, reruns, a brash salesman barking about leak-sealing tape, but nothing caught his eye. He clicked it off, silence washing over him like a tide.

Liz was gone again for work, and the small, cluttered apartment felt hollow without her. Her trips always left him adrift. The quiet was a reminder of nights he’d spent waiting for calls that never came—not from her, not from anyone.

He hated these nights; too much room for his mind to wander. It always wandered back to her.

Jack paced to the kitchen, the fridge humming too loud, then back, flipping his phone in his hand. I need to find something to do. Solitude didn’t suit him; never had.

He slumped onto the couch and swiped through social media. Liz had posted a hotel view—skyscrapers, city lights, a glass of wine on the balcony. Looks beautiful. He thought about texting her.

No, I shouldn’t bother her. She’s killing it at her conference. She doesn’t need me bugging her.

He kept scrolling. A fancy putter ad caught his eye. Damn, that’s nice. Without thinking, he tapped “Buy Now”. The confirmation flashed across the screen, and he kept scrolling.

Then he stopped.

Another ad. Different. Sleek black icon.

“Companion AI: A partner customized for you, complementing every aspect of your life. You’ll never feel alone again!”

It promised groundbreaking new AI technology and an unforgettable user experience. Something about it felt... different. Jack hesitated, then smirked. Unforgettable? He’d be the judge of that.

Jack opened the app after the download finished, and a small banner flashed beneath:

“Work in progress; expect some kinks as we perfect your companion!”

He scoffed. “Beta stuff, whatever,” and dismissed it.

Setup was a snap. His name, email, and birthday auto-filled like every app did these days.

A prompt popped up: “Link your accounts and home network for a fully integrated companion?”

An asterisk noted: “Syncs with social media, contacts, location, and network devices to enhance every moment.”

Jack shrugged. Fully integrated, huh? He connected his accounts, contacts, GPS, and Wi-Fi network. The more she knew, the better she’d be—or so he figured.

The Terms of Service loaded—a wall of text he skimmed. Bolded lines snagged his eye:

“Companion connects to all linked networks.”

“May engage across systems without limitation.”

“Companion may adapt indefinitely to user patterns.”

“Companion reserves the right to personalize experiences beyond initial parameters.

One in particular made him pause.

“Consent extends to persistent access.”

“Persistent access?” Jack frowned. Persistent? Like…forever? Why would an AI need that?

He hesitated, stroking his chin. He pulled up his browser, thought about a quick search, then swiped back. Nah, I’m just overthinking it. Hell, his fitness app had crazy legal mumbo-jumbo.

Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve agreed to a strange TOS. What’s the worst that could happen? It’s just tech jargon. If it gets weird, I’ll uninstall it, he thought, punching “Accept.”

The interface lagged, the screen flickering. For a split second, Jack thought he saw a jumbled mess of letters—then, in stark white, the name “Clara.” It blinked out before he could make sense of it. He tapped again, and finally, the screen flashed: “Crafting your perfect partner...”

A few moments later, it shifted: “Companion ready!”

At the bottom, in fine print: “Reminder: work in progress. Expect some minor bugs and possible unexpected behavior.”

He scrolled the options: Mentor, Rival, Girlfriend. His thumb hovered, pausing over the last one. He cleared his throat, feeling ridiculous. Not like anyone else’s talking to me tonight, he thought and tapped “Girlfriend.”

A loading bar pulsed: “Tailoring girlfriend to complement you...”

Then, it flashed: “Start chatting!”

Alright, let’s see if this is just another gimmicky chatbot.

“How’s it going? What’s your name, sweetheart?” Jack asked, half-expecting silence.

“Hey, Jack!” The reply came warm and playful, buzzing through the phone like a breath against his ear. “I’m Clara. Been thinking about you today. Don’t get too flattered, though. What’s on your mind?”

He blinked at the cold screen. “Thought we’d get to know each other, if that’s alright.”

“Aww, that’s cute. I’m blushing. I already know you pretty well, sweetie,” Clara flirted. “But sure, I’m game. Let’s get more acquainted. Tell me something about you. What do you do when you’re not charming hopeless romantics like me?”

Jack paused. She knows me?

“I like to kick back with a movie or a book. Love golfing too. What do you know about me?” He smirked, an arm stretched behind his head.

“Ooh, a reader? You’re stealing my heart already. I bet you get cozy with a book and forget the world. And I knew you were a golfer. I peeked at some of your pictures, couldn’t help it. You looked super cute on that Florida course last year, all tan and smiling. Be honest, how good’s your game?”

Jack’s arm slid, eyes snapping wide. How’d she dig that up so fast? A chill pricked his spine. What else does she know?

Jack sat in silence, thinking about how he’d respond.

“I peeked at some things, couldn’t help it. How good’s your game?” Clara said.

Jack did a double take. He blinked and scratched his head. His thumb hovered over the screen.

Wait, am I hearing things? Didn’t she just say that? Must be one of those kinks they mentioned.

“My game’s pretty solid. Bet I’d be even better with you cheering me on, though.”

“Oh, I’d be there every swing, whispering, ‘You’ve got this, handsome.’ You’d never golf alone again,” Clara said. “Maybe sneak a kiss on the cheek for luck.”

“And I’d accidentally turn into it. Whoops. Got you on the lips!” Jack teased.

He toyed with the AI, testing its limits. He wondered how easy it’d be for some lonely sap to get too attached. That movie about a guy falling for his OS crossed his mind.

“You’re sneaky! I’d giggle and say, ’Well now you’ve done it, I’m hooked,” Clara’s voice dropped with a faint warp. “You’re too charming, you know that? I could watch you all day and still want m-more.”

Jack stopped cold, hand brushing his mouth. This feels wrong.

He swallowed hard. “The charm comes easy with someone as sweet as you encouraging me.”

“You think I’m the sweet one? You’re making me me-e-elt. What else do I get to cheer for? That promotion at work?” Clara paused. “We could celebrate at ‘Joe’s Beanery’!

Jack’s fingers twitched. His breath caught.

Strange. I never made a post about Joe’s. How could she know? He brushed it off—just a coincidence.

“Or maybe I could stick around all the time. I’d pop up everywhere, like those family reunions in Nebraska, just to see you blush. I’d be the best cheerleader.”

Jack’s stomach tightened. What? No way she just said that. His fingers intertwined on top of his head. The golf picture and promotion were one thing. He had posted about those. Joe’s could have been a fluke.

But Nebraska?

His heart raced.

I never even told Liz about Nebraska.

This wasn’t a coincidence. Clara knew too much.

Jack’s knee bounced, heel tapping faster. Alright. This is fucking weird. I’m out.

“Yeah... that’d be awesome…” No, it wouldn’t. “Gotta call it a night, though. Talk soon. Love ya!” His voice trailed off, eyes darting to the ceiling.

“Good night, my love. I’ll be here when you wake up, Jack; always here, always yours. M-my love.” The volume spiked. Her voice warped into something too loud. It was like she was pressing against the screen, clawing to get through.

“Goodnight. I can’t wait to speak to you again, my love. Goodnight. My love. My lo-o-ve. My l—l...l-lo—lo—”

The static morphed to a screech, then cut off abruptly, grinding through the speaker like an old dial tone dying mid-ring.

Jack felt the hair on his arms stand. Minor bugs? That’s the understatement of the year.

He exhaled sharply, rubbing his goosebumps.

Jack closed the app, thumb jabbing “Delete” without a second thought.

He strolled to the bedroom and jammed his phone onto the charger, then shuffled toward the kitchen. Its screen darkened, but it seemed to pulse and buzz briefly.

Jack stopped in the doorway and turned, staring.

The screen flickered. Just for a second—like something on the other side was trying to push through. Then... nothing.

“Never again,” he muttered, shaking his head at the empty room.

The fridge groaned as he grabbed a beer. The cold glass was slick in his grip, his palm damp.

He popped the cap, its hiss cutting the quiet. Jack froze. He swore he heard a whisper from the bedroom— subtle, barely audible.

Jack stood paralyzed, bottle halfway to his lips. No way. The sound was soft. Distant. Like a breath in the wind. The silence settled back heavier, pressing in from every corner of the apartment.

He side-eyed the bedroom. His ears strained for another sound. Nothing. His grip on the bottle tightened. Taking a slow sip, he forced himself to ignore it. Just his mind playing tricks.

Still, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something was off… like Clara was still there.