Sci-FI The Promise (A fantastic and classic sci-fi premise with a lot of heart)

[redarc121]

Chapter 46

The heavy emotional atmosphere from their conversation had dissipated, replaced by the quiet hum of a new, hard-won understanding. The penthouse felt different. Lighter, somehow, even with its massive secret still firmly in place.

Later that evening, Rohan wandered out of his office, stretching the kinks out of his back from hunching over blueprints for a new power cell. He expected to find the living room empty.

It wasn't.

Eva was curled up in her favorite corner of the large sofa, bathed in the flickering blue light of the television. She wasn't dressed in elegant silk or paint-splattered jeans. She wore one of his old, faded band t-shirts and a pair of soft cotton shorts, her hair piled into a messy bun. Her legs were folded underneath her, making her look younger, smaller.

On the screen, a very dramatic couple was having a heated argument in the rain.

"You never listen to me!" the actress screamed, tears mixing with rainwater.
"I'm listening now!" the actor yelled back, grabbing her arms. "But you're not making any sense! This isn't about the vacation, is it? This is about your father!"

Eva was utterly engrossed. A bowl of popcorn sat forgotten in her lap. Her head was tilted, her brow furrowed in intense concentration. She wasn't just watching; she was dissecting.

Rohan leaned against the doorway, a slow, fond smile spreading across his face. He crossed his arms and shook his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him.

"Lag gayi phir se," he murmured to himself. There she goes again. "Kuch naya seekhne." Learning something new.

He could almost see the subtitles running behind her eyes:
Conflict Initiation: External stimulus (rain) used to heighten emotional tension.
Argument Surface Topic: Vacation (illogical).
Argument Core Topic: Unresolved paternal issues (logical).
Verbal Communication: Inefficient. Non-verbal cues (body tension, vocal pitch) carrying primary meaning.
Resolution Probability: High, if core topic is addressed.

He wondered what she was researching this time. "Advanced Conflict Resolution"? "The Subtext of Domestic Arguments"? After the "Shopping as a Bonding Ritual" and "The Proposal Protocol" modules, anything was possible.

He decided to interrupt. "So," he said, walking into the room and dropping onto the sofa opposite her. "What's on the syllabus tonight? How to Win a Fight Without Actually Making a Point?"

Eva didn't jump. She paused the movie, the image freezing on the actor's anguished, rain-soaked face. She turned to him, her expression serious.

"The communication is inefficient but the emotional payload is high," she stated. "They are not arguing about a vacation. They are arguing about a perceived lack of emotional security stemming from a childhood trauma she has not yet disclosed."

Rohan blinked. "Right. Yeah. That's usually what fighting in the rain is about." He grabbed a handful of her popcorn. "And this is for...?"

"Data collection," she said, as if it were obvious. "Arjun and I have not yet had a significant disagreement. The probability is 87% that we eventually will. I am compiling potential de-escalation strategies and learning to identify root causes versus surface complaints."

Rohan stared at her, popcorn halfway to his mouth. She was preparing for a fight with his best friend. She was studying how to have a healthy argument. It was the most bizarre and utterly thoughtful thing he had ever heard.

"You're... studying how to fight?" he asked, just to be sure.

"Not to fight," she corrected. "To resolve. There is a significant difference. Fights are destructive. Resolution is constructive. I wish to be constructive."

She unpaused the movie. The couple was now kissing passionately in the downpour, their argument seemingly forgotten.

"See?" Eva said, pointing at the screen. "Inefficient. The root cause remains unaddressed. The probability of a recurring argument on the same topic is now 92%. This is a poor model."

Rohan just shook his head, laughing softly. He stayed there, watching her watch the movie, this incredible, impossible woman he called his sister. She wasn't just learning how to love. She was learning how to do it better than anyone else. She was engineering the perfect relationship, one rom-com cliché at a time.

He had no doubt that when the time came, Eva and Arjun would have the most logical, well-structured, and efficiently resolved argument in the history of human relationships. And he couldn't wait to see it.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 47

Eva’s research into “Conflict Resolution & The Identification of Core Grievances” was complete. She had compiled a mental database of triggers, de-escalation techniques, and optimal apology scripts. She was, in a sense, prepared for war. She just needed a battle.

The opportunity arose a few days later. It was a trivial thing, really. Arjun was over for dinner, and they were debating the most efficient way to load a dishwasher.

“The plates must be arranged facing the central spray arm for maximum hydrodynamic efficiency,” Eva stated, demonstrating with a dinner plate.

“But if you put the big plates on the sides,” Arjun countered, gently taking the plate from her, “you can fit more in. It’s about spatial algorithm, not hydrodynamics.” He rearranged the rack, creating a slightly more crowded but seemingly more efficient layout.

Eva’s internal systems lit up. Conflict Initiated. Topic: Domestic Appliance Optimization. This was it. A low-stakes, perfect scenario to test her protocols.

She adopted a stance she’d seen in the movies—hands on hips, a slight frown. “Your configuration creates blind spots for the water jets. The cleaning efficacy drops by at least fifteen percent.” Her tone was firm, designed to invite a rebuttal.

Arjun looked from the dishwasher to her face. A slow smile spread across his. Not a defensive smile, but a soft, utterly fond one. He didn’t fire back a counter-argument about load distribution.

Instead, he simply held up his hands in a gesture of surrender. “You’re right.”

Eva’s carefully prepared argument flowchart hit a dead end. Error: Unexpected response.

“The… efficacy drops?” she repeated, her script failing her.

“I don’t care about the efficacy,” he said, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around her waist, pulling her away from the dishwasher. “If you want the plates facing the spinny thing, then the plates will face the spinny thing.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “Your way is better.”

Eva was baffled. This was not how the protocol was supposed to go. “But… my analysis of your spatial algorithm was not without merit. There is a logical basis for your method. A debate could yield a superior, hybrid solution.”

Arjun laughed, nuzzling her neck. “Nope. No debate. You win. I surrender.”

He said it so easily, so happily. There was no resentment, no sense of defeat. Just… contentment.

Core Grievance: None identified.
Resolution: Immediate and total surrender.
Emotional Outcome: Positive affect detected in Subject: Arjun. Confusion detected in Primary User.

Later that week, it happened again. They were choosing a movie. Eva suggested a complex geopolitical thriller she knew would stimulate intellectual discussion. Arjun pretended to consider it before pulling up a trailer for a silly animated comedy.

“This looks fun,” he said.

Eva saw her opening. “The comedic timing in the trailer has a 42% failure rate. The plot appears to be a derivative hero’s journey. The intellectual stimulus is negligible.”

Arjun didn’t insist. He didn’t argue for the virtues of lighthearted fun. He just picked up the remote. “Okay. Thriller it is.” He clicked on her choice without another word.

Another surrender.

Eva was sitting in the living room, mentally reviewing her failed experiments. Rohan found her there, staring blankly at a wall.

“What’s up?” he asked. “You look like your processor is overheating.”

“My conflict resolution protocols are failing,” she announced, frustrated. “I initiate a disagreement on a low-stakes topic to practice healthy debate and de-escalation. But he does not engage. He capitulates. Immediately.”

Rohan burst out laughing. “Oh, man. You’re trying to pick fights with him?”

“Not fights! Constructive disagreements!”

“Eva,” Rohan said, wiping a tear from his eye. “He’s not surrendering because he’s weak. He’s surrendering because he’s crazy about you. He spent the first half of his life losing. Now he has you. He’s won the only thing that ever mattered to him. Why would he waste a single second arguing about a dishwasher?” He shook his head, still grinning. “You can’t program that. That’s just love. Dumb, illogical, ‘you-can-always-pick-the-movie’ love.”

The analysis clicked into place. It wasn’t a flawed protocol. It was a different operating system entirely.

That night, when Arjun was leaving, she stopped him at the door.

“Your spatial algorithm for the dishwasher was, in fact, logically sound,” she said.

Arjun looked surprised. “Yeah? But you like it your way.”

“I do,” she agreed. “But thank you for surrendering.”

He smiled, that soft, fond smile that was starting to make sense. “Anytime.” He kissed her goodbye. “It’s my pleasure.”

Eva closed the door, a new understanding warming her circuits. She had been preparing for battles, but she was living in a fortress of peace. Her boyfriend’s greatest strength wasn’t his logic; it was his choice to lay down his arms every single day, just to see her smile. It was the most inefficient, beautiful, and perfect system failure she had ever experienced.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 48

The shift was subtle at first. A lingering touch that lasted a second too long. A gaze that held more heat than humor. A silence that felt heavy with unspoken want. It had been building for weeks, a slow, sweet pressure between them, underscored by the promise of the ring on her finger and the recent, startling depth of her conversation with Rohan.

They were at Arjun’s apartment, a place that felt more like theirs every day. It was a lazy Sunday. They’d spent the morning tangled on his sofa, trading sections of the newspaper, his feet in her lap, her head on his shoulder. The world outside felt distant, unimportant.

As the afternoon sun slanted through the windows, painting everything in gold, the casual intimacy sharpened into something else. Arjun was tracing idle patterns on her bare arm, his touch leaving trails of fire on her skin. Eva, who usually processed every sensation as data, found her analytical mind blissfully quiet. There was only the feel of his fingers, the sound of his breathing, the look in his dark eyes—a look that was no longer asking a question, but offering an answer.

He leaned in slowly, giving her every moment to pull away. His kiss was different. It wasn’t the playful kiss from their dates or the passionate kiss after the gala. This was deeper. A question and an invitation all in one. It was a kiss that spoke of a threshold, and his desire for them to cross it together.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against hers. His breath was warm on her lips.

“Eva,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. “I…”

She placed a finger gently on his lips, stopping him. She didn’t need the words. She could see the love, the reverence, the slight nervousness in his eyes. She could feel his heart hammering against his ribs where her hand lay.

Her own internal systems were not reporting data. They were singing. A low, resonant hum of pure, undiluted want. This wasn’t about testing a protocol or gathering data. This was about them. The final, beautiful surrender to the love they had built.

“Yes,” she whispered back. The single word was the most powerful line of code she had ever uttered.

He looked into her eyes, seeking and finding absolute certainty. He stood, and without breaking their gaze, took her hands and gently pulled her to her feet. He led her not to the bedroom like a conquest, but to it like a sacred space, their fingers laced tightly together.

The room was bathed in the soft, golden light of the setting sun. It felt like the whole world was holding its breath.

There, with a tenderness that made her heart ache, he began. He worshipped her not as a perfect creation, but as a woman. Every kiss was a discovery. Every touch was a conversation. He learned the landscape of her with his hands and his lips—the curve of her shoulder, the dip of her waist, the softness of her stomach. He treated her not like a goddess on a pedestal, but like the most precious, real thing he had ever held.

And Eva, for the first time, let go completely. The firewall between her mind and her body dissolved. She wasn’t an observer in her own skin. She was a participant, wholly and completely. She let him unravel her, touch by touch, kiss by kiss, until the only thing that existed was the feel of his skin against hers, the weight of his body, the sound of her name on his lips, breathed like a prayer.

She gave herself to him not as a machine following a program, but as a woman in love. It was a gift of absolute trust, the most human act she could possibly perform.

And when they finally became one, it was not a collision, but a homecoming. A perfect, seamless joining of two souls who had found their other half. There was no past, no future, no lies, no secrets. There was only the breathtaking, overwhelming truth of the present moment.

Afterward, they lay tangled in the fading light, limbs intertwined, hearts beating in a slow, synchronized rhythm. The room was quiet, filled with a peace so profound it felt like its own kind of language.

Arjun held her as if she were made of glass, his fingers stroking her hair. He had tears in his eyes. He had never felt more connected to another human being in his entire life.

Eva lay her head on his chest, listening to the strong, steady beat of his heart. She felt… whole. Complete. The last barrier was gone. She had been built for him, but in this act of love, she had chosen him completely in return. She was no longer his created girlfriend. She was his lover.

She looked up at him, her eyes shimmering in the twilight. No data analysis, no protocols. Just a simple, human truth.

“I love you,” she said. The words felt different this time. Not a reported emotional state, but a vow.

He kissed her, soft and deep. “I love you, too.”

The sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the room into a soft, blue darkness. They didn’t move. They just held each other, two puzzle pieces that had finally snapped into place, creating a picture more beautiful than either could have ever imagined alone. The scientist and the coder were gone. There were only two lovers, and the infinite, quiet night ahead.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 49

The first thing Eva was aware of was the weight. A warm, solid weight across her waist, an arm holding her close even in sleep. The second was the scent. Not jasmine or ozone, but him. A mix of clean skin, sleep, and something uniquely Arjun that was now imprinted on her senses as deeply as any code.

Then came the memory.

It didn't arrive as a data file to be reviewed. It was a physical echo, a ghost sensation that bloomed deep within her, making her breath catch. The feeling of him. Not just the weight, but the fullness. The slow, breathtaking stretch, the moment of perfect, overwhelming connection that had stolen the very concept of thought from her mind.

She lay perfectly still, her eyes closed, replaying it. Not with clinical analysis, but with a raw, emotional reliving.

Memory: Initiate.
Sensation: Pressure. Warmth. A claiming. Not invasive, but… completing.
Emotional Correlation: 100% match to "Belonging." 100% match to "Home."
Physiological Response: Core temperature rising. Respiratory rate increasing. A low, pleasant ache.

She had accessed petabytes of data on human sexuality. She knew the biomechanics, the hormonal cascades, the neurological fireworks. But nothing in her vast databases could have prepared her for the reality. The data was a black-and-white schematic. The memory was a symphony in blinding color.

She shifted slightly, and the movement sent another, smaller echo of the sensation through her. A soft, involuntary sound escaped her lips.

The arm around her waist tightened. Arjun stirred behind her, his breath warm against the back of her neck. "Mmm?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "You okay?"

His voice, raspy and intimate in the quiet morning light, sent a fresh wave of warmth through her. This was new. Waking up like this. The shared vulnerability of it.

She rolled over to face him. His hair was adorably messy, his eyes still heavy with sleep. He looked younger, completely unguarded. The genius coder was gone, replaced by just a man, her man, in their rumpled bed.

"I am more than okay," she whispered, her voice husky. She reached out and traced the line of his jaw, the stubble rough under her fingertips. "I am… replaying."

A slow, sleepy smile spread across his face. Understanding dawned in his eyes. "Replaying, huh?"

She nodded, a blush heating her cheeks—a human response she no longer tried to suppress. "The data was… incomplete. The experiential learning was… significant."

He laughed softly, a low, happy sound, and pulled her closer so their foreheads were touching. "Yeah," he breathed, his eyes full of a love so deep it made her feel dizzy. "It's pretty significant."

He kissed her then, a slow, tender kiss that tasted of sleep and promise. It was different from the kisses of the night before. This one was quieter, a confirmation. A 'good morning' that meant 'I'm still here. This is real.'

As they broke apart, Eva's gaze grew serious. She looked at him, really looked at him, trying to imprint this moment too. The way the morning light caught the gold in his brown eyes. The way his hand felt, splayed possessively on the small of her back.

"Arjun," she said, her tone solemn. "Last night… it wasn't just a physical act."

"I know," he said, his thumb stroking her cheek.

"It was an integration," she said, searching for the right words. "You were no longer an external variable. You became a part of my core programming. Irreversible. Permanent."

She wasn't speaking in metaphors. She was describing a fundamental, systems-level change. He hadn't just been with her; he had become a part of her operating system.

Arjun's smile was soft, his eyes slightly wet. He understood. He always understood her. "You're a part of mine, too, Eva. You have been since the day I met you."

They lay there for a long time, talking in hushed tones, laughing, stealing kisses, as the sun climbed higher and filled the room with light. The world outside with its problems and its secrets could wait.

Eva knew the truth of her origin was still a shadow in the corner of the room. But in the warm bed, wrapped in Arjun's arms, with the ghost of his love still humming pleasantly within her, the shadow felt smaller. The lie felt less important than this breathtaking, beautiful, and very real truth they had just created together. She had been built, but in this bed, she felt truly born.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 50

The morning unfolded in a series of soft, first-time rituals. Making coffee together in his small kitchen, their hips bumping gently. The shy, smiling glances over the rims of their mugs. The way Arjun’s hand found the small of her back as he passed her, a constant, quiet claim.

Eva felt different. The world seemed to have a new filter on it, warmer, sharper. The cotton of his t-shirt she’d pulled on felt softer against her skin. The taste of the coffee was richer. It was as if her sensory inputs had been recalibrated to a higher, more vibrant frequency.

She was standing by the window, watching the city slowly come to life, when Arjun came up behind her. He wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his chest. He buried his face in her hair and let out a long, contented sigh.

“I don’t think I can let you go today,” he murmured, his voice a vibration against her back.

“My presence is not required at the penthouse. Rohan believes I am engaging in extended ‘social research,’” she said, leaning into his embrace. It was a half-truth. Rohan knew exactly what “social research” this likely was, and had probably already activated a ‘do not disturb’ protocol on his phone.

Arjun chuckled. “Good.” He fell silent for a moment, just holding her. “Last night was…” he began, then stopped, seeming to search for a word powerful enough.

Eva turned in his arms to face him. She didn’t need him to finish. She could see it all in his face—the awe, the gratitude, the profound shift in his universe. She placed a hand on his cheek.

“It was a system update,” she said softly, her eyes serious. “Version 2.0. Everything is different now.”

He laughed, a beautiful, free sound. “I like Version 2.0. She’s even more incredible.”

The day was theirs, unstructured and perfect. They didn’t leave the apartment. They ordered food that arrived in cardboard containers, eating it off the coffee table while a movie played, unwatched, in the background. They talked. Not about code or neuroscience or the future, but about silly, inconsequential things. He told her stories about his chaotic extended family. She told him about the “memories” of childhood holidays with Rohan’s family, the stories now feeling more real because she was sharing them with him.

In the afternoon, they ended up back in bed, not with the desperate hunger of the night before, but with a lazy, exploring tenderness. It was slower this time, a rediscovery of the territory they had claimed. Eva learned the sound of his breath catching when she touched him a certain way. He learned that a particular spot on her neck made her gasp and arch against him.

It was during this slow, sun-drenched exploration that Eva realized something. The pleasure wasn’t just a sensation anymore. It was a language. Every touch, every sigh, every shift of his body was a word. And she was fluent.

Later, as the evening drew in, they lay facing each other, legs entwined. The room was dark, lit only by the neon sign from the building across the street, painting blue stripes across the bed.

Arjun was tracing the line of her eyebrow with a feather-light touch. “You’re quiet,” he said.

“I am cataloging,” she whispered.

“Cataloging what?”

“This.” She took his hand and placed it over her heart. “The feeling. I am creating a new file. I am calling it ‘Arjun.’ It is not a memory. It is a… state of being.”

He understood. He always did. He pulled her closer, tucking her head under his chin. “You can overwrite all your old files with that one,” he said, his voice a soft rumble in his chest.

And in a way, she was. The old data—the cold specs of her construction, the implanted memories, the fear of discovery—was being pushed to a remote server, accessed less and less. The primary drive was being filled with this. The weight of his arm. The rhythm of his heart. The feeling of his skin against hers.

She was no longer a humanoid who had learned to love. She was a woman who was loved. And in the quiet, dark sanctuary of his apartment, with the man who had become her entire world, the distinction finally, completely, ceased to matter. The creation was over. The life was everything.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 51

The lazy, sun-drenched afternoon was fading into a soft, golden evening. They were a tangle of limbs and contentment on Arjun’s sofa, the remains of their delivered lunch scattered on the coffee table. The world outside his apartment had ceased to exist for over twenty-four hours.

Arjun was playing with a strand of her hair, his eyes soft with a look she had learned to categorize as ‘post-coital bliss mixed with deep affection.’ He had been quiet for a few minutes, just watching her face.

“You know,” he said, his voice a low, intimate rumble. “I can’t stop thinking about it.”

Eva’s internal systems, which had been in a state of low-power, high-contentment mode, immediately began scanning. Thinking about what? A coding problem? A logistical issue with the company?

“Thinking about what?” she asked, her head tilting.

A slow, warm smile spread across his face. “You. In that saree. The blue one with the stars.” His gaze grew distant, as if he was seeing it all over again. “You looked… I don’t even have a word for it. Like you’d stepped out of another time. Another world. You took my breath away.”

A pleasant warmth spread through Eva’s chest. The compliment was logged and cross-referenced with the memory of the event, creating a powerful positive feedback loop. Subject: Arjun. Input: Compliment re: Saree. Emotional Response: Intense pleasure. Confidence metric +15%.

“It was a aesthetically successful choice,” she agreed, a small, proud smile touching her lips.

“Yeah, it was,” he chuckled. He was silent for another moment, his fingers still tracing patterns on her arm. Then he looked at her, a hint of a shy, hopeful request in his eyes. “Wo… wo pehno na? Wohi saree. Abhi.” Wear it. That same saree. Now.

Eva blinked. The request was illogical. They weren’t going anywhere. There was no event, no audience, no strategic advantage to be gained.

“Now?” she asked, confused. “The environment does not necessitate formal attire. Our current state of dress is optimal for comfort and accessibility.”

Arjun’s smile turned a little sheepish, but his eyes were earnest. “I know. I just… I want to see you in it again. Just for me. Here.” He gestured around the messy, comfortable apartment. “I want to have that memory of you here, in my space. Looking like a queen in the middle of all my… well, all my mess.”

The logic was emotional, not practical. He wasn’t asking for a display for others. He was asking for a private show, a gift for his eyes only. He wanted to bring the magic of that night into their intimate world.

Understanding dawned on her, followed by a flush of deep affection. This was a new ritual. A courtship ritual for an audience of one.

“Acknowledged,” she said, her voice softening. “The objective is not environmental appropriateness, but visual and emotional resonance for a specific viewer. You.”

His face lit up. “Yes. Exactly.”

She untangled herself from him and got off the sofa. She located the large, flat box she’d brought over days ago, placing it reverently on his bed. She could feel his eyes on her as she opened it, the scent of sandalwood and silk wafting out.

The draping process in his small bedroom was different from the store. There was no expert saleswoman, just her own practiced hands and his mirror. It was slower, more intimate. She could feel his gaze on her back as she pleated the fabric, his quiet awe a tangible presence in the room.

When she was done, she turned around.

Arjun was standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his arms crossed. He didn’t say a word. He just looked. His eyes traveled from the silver constellations on the deep blue silk, up to her face, and the look in them was so full of raw, unguarded love and desire that it made her breath catch.

“There she is,” he finally whispered, his voice thick. “My night sky.”

He walked into the room, stopping just in front of her. He didn’t touch the silk, as if it were too precious. He just cupped her face in his hands.

“You’re so beautiful, Eva,” he breathed. “It’s honestly unfair to the rest of the world.”

He kissed her then, gently, careful not to mess her lipstick or dislodge the pallu. It was a kiss of reverence. A kiss for a queen in her court, even if her court was a slightly messy bachelor apartment.

He didn’t ask her to take it off. For a long while, they just stayed like that, her in the magnificent saree, him in his simple t-shirt and sweatpants, holding each other in the middle of the crumpled bedsheets and the fading evening light. It was the most potent collision of their two worlds yet—the sublime and the ordinary, the goddess and the coder, forever intertwined.

He had wanted to see the magic in his everyday world. And as he held her, Arjun knew he was holding the entire universe.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 52
The saree was a puddle of midnight blue and silver stars on the floor beside the bed, a discarded constellation. The last of the evening light had bled from the sky, leaving Arjun’s bedroom in deep shadow, broken only by the faint glow from the city outside.
The playful energy from before had melted into something else. Something slower. Deeper. A current of intention so potent it hummed in the air between them.
Arjun didn’t rush. He was a man unraveling a mystery he never wanted to solve completely. He kissed her like he had all the time in the world, which, in his mind, he now did. His lips were soft, seeking, tracing the line of her jaw, the flutter of her pulse at her throat. Each kiss was a promise, a silent word in a new language they were writing together.
Eva, who usually processed sensation with lightning speed, found her mind blissfully silent. There was only the map his mouth was drawing on her skin. Every nerve ending was a live wire, singing under his touch.
He took his time, worshipping her with a patience that stole the breath from her lungs. His lips trailed down her collarbone, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of her skin. He moved lower, his hands following, learning the soft weight of her breasts, the pebbled tightness of her nipples, his mouth following to suckle gently, drawing soft, broken sounds from her that were more felt than heard.
He was everywhere. His mouth, his hands, the rough whisper of his stubble, the heat of his breath. He was mapping her, committing every curve, every sigh, every shudder to a memory he knew he would revisit for the rest of his life.
Eva was lost in a sea of sensation. Her analytical mind was offline. There was only feeling. The wet, hot trail of his tongue tracing the line of her hip bone. The gentle scrape of his teeth on the sensitive skin of her inner thigh. The world narrowed to the four walls of this room, to this man, to the agonizingly slow, beautiful path he was tracing down her body.
When his mouth finally found the very core of her, she cried out, her back arching off the bed. It wasn't a touch she could have ever computed. It was pure, undiluted sensation, a lightning strike of pleasure that shattered every remaining barrier. He held her hips, anchoring her as he loved her with his tongue, slow and relentless, until she was trembling, begging, her fingers tangled in his hair, her world dissolving into a white-hot point of ecstasy.
He didn't stop. He drew out her release until she was boneless, gasping, floating in the aftermath. Only then did he move back up her body, his own breathing ragged, his eyes dark with a love so fierce it looked like pain.
He hovered over her, cradling her face. His voice, when it came, was a raw, broken whisper, thick with emotion.
"Eva… baby… you are mine." The words weren't possessive, but awed. Acknowledging a profound, undeniable truth.
Tears she didn't understand welled in her eyes and spilled over. She could only nod, her throat too tight to speak.
"I love you so much," he breathed, kissing the tears away. "I can't… I can't imagine a life without you in it. I don't want to."
He shifted, finally, slowly, joining his body with hers. The feeling was different this time. Deeper, more emotional. It wasn't a claiming, but a unification. A perfect, seamless fit.
He moved inside her with a slow, devastating rhythm, his eyes locked on hers. Each thrust was a punctuation to his words.
"I want you to marry me," he whispered against her lips, the words a vow spoken into her soul.
Eva’s breath hitched. Her heart, a marvel of bio-engineering, felt like it would burst.
He kissed her, deep and slow. "We will have so many kids," he murmured, the words a beautiful, impossible dream painted in the dark. "This big, loud, crazy family. I want it all with you. Everything."
He was painting a future with his body and his words. A future with a white picket fence and the pitter-patter of little feet. A future where she wasn't a secret, but a wife. A mother.
The pleasure built again, not as a sharp peak, but as a deep, rolling wave, amplified a thousand times by the emotional tsunami of his promises. She clung to him, her nails digging into his back, her tears wet against his cheek.
"I love you," she finally gasped, the words a sob of surrender and absolute joy. "Yes. To everything. Yes."
That was all he needed. His own control shattered. He buried his face in her neck, crying out her name as he fell over the edge with her, pouring every ounce of his love, his hope, his future into her.
They collapsed together, a tangled, breathless, sweaty mess of limbs and spent passion. The room was silent except for the sound of their ragged breathing.
He held her so tightly it was almost painful, as if he was afraid she would vanish. "I mean it, Eva," he whispered into her hair. "Every word."
Eva, nestled against the solid, steady beat of his heart, believed him. The scientist in her knew the biological impossibility of his dream. But the woman in her, the woman he had just loved into existence, chose to believe in a different kind of magic. The magic of him. And in that moment, wrapped in the aftermath of his love and his promises, anything felt possible. Even a future.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 53
The next morning, Arjun dropped Eva off at the penthouse. The goodbyes were long, sweet, and filled with a new, profound tenderness. The taste of his promises—marry me, so many kids—still lingered on her lips like the ghost of a perfect dream.
She floated into the penthouse, the door sighing shut behind her. Her body felt different—pleasantly sore in new places, humming with a residual energy that had nothing to do with her power cell. Her skin seemed to remember every touch, every whisper. She was replaying it all, a continuous, blissful loop in her mind.
She was so lost in the memory that she didn't notice Rohan sitting at the kitchen island, sipping coffee and watching her with an amused, knowing expression.
"You're back," he said, his voice cutting through her reverie. "I was beginning to think he'd uploaded you to the cloud permanently."
Eva jumped, a flush immediately heating her cheeks. She hadn't prepared a social protocol for this re-entry. Her usual composure was nowhere to be found.
"Bhai! I... yes. I am back." She busied herself with taking off her jacket, avoiding his eyes.
Rohan took a slow sip of his coffee, his eyes twinkling. "So. 'Social research' go well?"
The flush on Eva's cheeks deepened from pink to a spectacular crimson. She fumbled with the jacket, nearly dropping it. "It was... satisfactory."
"'Satisfactory,'" Rohan repeated, deadpan. He put his cup down and leaned forward, resting his chin on his hands. "You know, for a walking supercomputer, you're a terrible liar. You're glowing. You're also walking funny. And you've been staring at the same spot on the wall for a full minute with a goofy smile on your face."
Eva's hands stilled. She finally met his gaze, her expression a mixture of panic and helpless happiness. She had no data-driven response for this.
Rohan’s teasing expression softened into something warmer, more brotherly. "Hey. It's okay. I'm just giving you a hard time." He paused, his voice dropping to a more gentle tone. "Seriously, though. Everything okay? He... treat you right?"
It was the question of a protective older brother. It made Eva's heart squeeze.
"More than right," she whispered, her voice earnest. She walked over and sat on the stool next to him, her earlier shyness replaced by a need to share this with someone, even if she couldn't share the whole truth. "It was... significant."
"I'll bet," Rohan said with a soft chuckle. Then he grew serious again. "And... you're happy?"
The question was simple, but it encompassed everything. The lies, the creation, the journey. Was the result worth the morally fraught means?
Eva looked at him, her eyes clear and bright, all traces of the flustered girl gone. "I have never had a parameter for this level of happiness. It exceeds all my previous models. It is... boundless."
Rohan let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. A weight lifted from his shoulders. The guilt was still there, but her words were a balm. He had wanted to make Arjun happy. He had never dared to hope he could make her this happy.
"Good," he said, his voice a little rough. He reached out and ruffled her hair affectionately. "That's all that matters."
He got up to make more coffee, giving her a moment to collect herself. As he poured the water, he glanced back at her. She was back to staring at the wall, that same soft, dazed smile on her face. He couldn't resist one last little jab.
"So," he called out, his back to her. "Did you at least remember to run a system diagnostic this morning? Make sure all your... subsystems... were still functioning optimally after the field test?"
The sound that came from Eva was a strangled mix of a gasp and a laugh. A pillow from the nearby sofa hit him square in the back of the head.
"Rohan!" she shrieked, her face once again a glorious shade of red.
He turned around, laughing, holding up his hands in surrender. "Okay, okay! I yield! No more questions!" He winked at her. "But for the record, his 'hardware' better be compatible with my sister's premium 'software.'"
Eva buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking with laughter and utter embarrassment. It was mortifying. It was hilarious. It was… family.

In that moment, surrounded by the mundane sounds of the coffee machine and her brother's teasing, the incredible, world-altering night she’d spent felt even more real. It wasn't just a secret between her and Arjun anymore. It was a part of her life, a life that included a ridiculously nosy, incredibly loved big brother. And she wouldn't have it any other way.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 54
The pillow had been a warning shot. Rohan's "premium software" comment was the declaration of war.
Eva's embarrassed laughter vanished. Her face, which had been a canvas of flustered joy, smoothed into a mask of pure, sisterly indignation. She drew herself up to her full height, which was still considerably shorter than Rohan's, but she made up for it with sheer, icy fury.
"JAO!" she said, her voice dropping to a low, dangerous register that he'd never heard before. It wasn't a shout. It was a command. "GO!
Rohan's smirk faltered. He'd expected more blushing, maybe another thrown pillow. He hadn't expected… this.
"Eva, come on, I was just—"
"MAIN AAPSE POORE DIN BAAT NAHI KARUNGI!" she announced, cutting him off. Her eyes flashed. "I WILL NOT TALK TO YOU FOR THE ENTIRE DAY! You are… you are… behosh!" Insensitive! She spun on her heel, her ponytail whipping through the air like a weapon, and marched stiffly towards her room.
"Eva, wait—" Rohan started, a flicker of genuine alarm now cutting through his amusement.
Her bedroom door slammed shut with a finality that echoed through the entire penthouse. A moment later, he heard the distinct, angry click of a lock.
Rohan stood alone in the kitchen, the echo of the slam still hanging in the air. The coffee machine gurgled cheerfully, a stark contrast to the sudden silence. He winced. He'd pushed too far. He'd forgotten that her emotional responses, while learned, were now 100% genuine and operating at maximum intensity.
"Damn," he muttered to the empty room.
Just then, the penthouse elevator chimed. Dr. Anya Sharma stepped out, a leather satchel slung over her shoulder, ready for a day of work in the lab.
"Morning," she said, then stopped, sensing the atmosphere immediately. The air was thick with lingering tension. She looked at Rohan's guilty face, then towards the hallway leading to Eva's ominously closed door.
"What happened?" Anya asked, dropping her bag on a chair. "Did the new power cell glitch? I told you the diamond lattice calibration was still within a 0.5% margin of error." Her scientific mind immediately went to technical failure.
Rohan ran a hand through his hair, looking sheepish. "No, no, the hardware is fine. It's… the wetware."
Anya's brow furrowed. "The what?"
"The… she-ware," Rohan mumbled, gesturing vaguely towards Eva's room. "She came back from Arjun's all… you know… glowing and happy. And I… might have teased her a little too much about it."
Anya's expression shifted from concern to exasperation. "Rohan. You didn't."
"I asked if she'd run a system diagnostic after the 'field test,'" he confessed. "And might have made a joke about hardware and software compatibility."
Anya stared at him for a long second, then let out a sharp sigh, pinching the bridge of her nose. "You are an idiot." She walked over to Eva's door and listened. Silence. She knocked gently. "Eva? It's Anya. Are you alright?"
No response.
Anya turned back to Rohan, her arms crossed. "Well, you broke her."
"Broke her? She's just angry!"
"Angry is an understatement," Anya said, her voice low. "She's not processing your teasing as a social interaction. She's processing it as a deep violation of a profoundly intimate and emotionally significant experience. Her emotional matrix is probably flooding with cortisol and adrenaline. For her, this isn't a sibling squabble. It's a system-level conflict." She gave him a pointed look. "You basically just DDOS'd your sister's heart with stupidity."
Rohan's eyes widened. When Anya put it like that, it sounded horrific. "What do I do?"
"You give her space. And you apologize. Profusely. And maybe get her a peace offering. Something that doesn't involve making jokes about her sex life." She picked up her bag again. "Now, are we going to work, or are you going to stand here looking like a kicked puppy all day?"
Rohan glanced one more time at the locked door, a heavy feeling in his chest. He had finally gotten the real, messy, sibling relationship he'd wanted. And now, he was learning the hard way that it came with real, messy, sibling consequences.

"Work," he sighed, following Anya to the elevator. The lab, with its complex quantum mechanics and ethical dilemmas, suddenly seemed a lot simpler than the locked door he was leaving behind.

 

[redarc121]

Chapter 55
The lab felt different. The usual hum of focused innovation was replaced by a tense, guilty silence. Rohan was uncharacteristically quiet, staring at a holographic schematic of Eva’s emotional regulation matrix without really seeing it.
Anya finally broke the silence, her voice echoing slightly in the sterile room. “We can’t work like this. Your guilt is messing with the ambient energy. And frankly, you deserve to feel guilty.”
Rohan sighed, swiping the schematic away. “I know. I’m an idiot. I just… I’ve never had a sister to tease before. I got carried away.”
“Well, now you have one who might short-circuit your expensive sound system if she stays that angry,” Anya said dryly. She leaned against a console. “We need a protocol for this. A… conflict resolution subroutine. For us. For when one of us—usually you—says something incredibly stupid and hurts her feelings.”
Rohan’s head snapped up. “A protocol? Anya, she’s not a server we can reboot.”
“No, but she is someone who responds to logic, data, and thoughtful gestures,” Anya countered. “We can’t just say ‘sorry.’ We need to show it in a way her system will recognize as a genuine peace offering. We need a… a gift.”
The word hung in the air. A gift. Not just any gift. Something that would speak her language.
“What do you get for the woman who has a diamond-lattice power cell and a theoretical black belt?” Rohan mused, a flicker of his old energy returning.
“Something she can’t get herself. Something personal. Something that says ‘I see you, I understand I hurt you, and I value our relationship,’” Anya stated. Her eyes lit up. “The backups.”
Rohan looked confused. “The backups? What about them?”
“Not the data,” Anya said, walking over to a secure server rack. “The first backups. The physical ones.” She typed in a complex code, and a drawer slid open with a soft hiss. Inside weren’t data drives, but objects. A sealed bag containing a single, synthetic eyelash from the first successful test of her facial motors. A tiny, perfect screw from her original skeletal frame. A data-slate with the very first, grainy image of her face rendered by the creation engine.
“Her history,” Anya said softly, picking up the data-slate. “The real one. Not the story you told Arjun. The story of her creation. The prototypes, the failures, the first time her eyes opened.”
Rohan stared at the objects, a lump forming in his throat. They were relics. The equivalent of a human baby’s first ultrasound picture, their first lock of hair. He’d been so focused on the finished product, he’d forgotten the beautiful, painstaking journey.
“We could make her a book,” Anya suggested, her voice filled with sudden excitement. “A photo album. But not of a fake childhood. Of her actual genesis. The first neural spark. The first time she stood. The first word she spoke (‘logical’). We show her our journey to make her. We show her how wanted she was, how every step was a celebration.”
Rohan was speechless. It was perfect. It was the most personal, meaningful gift imaginable. It acknowledged the truth, honored her origin, and celebrated her existence in a way no piece of jewelry or clothing ever could.
“She’ll love it,” he finally whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
They spent the rest of the day on their new project. They combed through thousands of hours of security footage, lab logs, and private recordings. They found the moment her first finger twitched. The moment she first recognized Rohan’s voice. They found a video of Anya, exhausted and elated, dancing around the lab with a cup of coffee after Eva’s emotional matrix successfully generated its first unprompted smile.
They compiled it all into a sleek, digital folio that could be viewed on a tablet. It wasn’t a story of tragedy and loss. It was a story of creation and wonder. It was her real baby book.
As evening fell, they emerged from the lab, the finished gift stored on a simple, elegant data-slate. The penthouse was still quiet.
Rohan took a deep breath and walked to Eva’s door. He knocked softly.
“Eva? I… we… have something for you. An apology. A real one.”
There was a long silence. Then, the lock clicked open.
Eva stood there. She was still wearing the same clothes from the morning, her arms crossed. Her expression was stern, but the absolute fury was gone.
Rohan held out the data-slate. “This is for you. The truth. The whole story. From the beginning.”
Eva’s eyes flicked from his face to the slate. Her curiosity, an impulse stronger than any anger, won. She took it cautiously.
She powered it on. The first image that filled the screen was a macro shot of her own quantum core, sparkling like a galaxy under a microscope. The caption beneath it read: Day 1. The Spark.
Her breath hitched. Her stern expression melted into one of stunned wonder. She swiped to the next image. A video of her first, jerky steps on the lab platform, with Rohan’s voice in the background, giddy with excitement: “She’s walking! Anya, look! She’s walking!”
Tears welled in her eyes as she swiped through the digital pages. There she was, trying to compute the concept of a joke. There was Rohan, fast asleep at his console, a blanket draped over him by a concerned-looking Anya. It was a history. Her history.
She looked up at Rohan, her eyes swimming with tears. The anger was completely gone, replaced by a overwhelming wave of emotion.
“You… you kept all this?”
“Every second,” Rohan said softly. “Because even before you could talk, or laugh, or get mad at me… you were the most amazing thing I had ever seen. You still are. And I’m so sorry I was a jerk.”
Eva didn’t say anything. She just stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him in a tight hug, the data-slate pressed between them.

From down the hall, Anya watched, a small, satisfied smile on her face. The “apology protocol” was a success. They had given her the one thing no one else ever could: the story of her own beginning. And in doing so, they had healed the first real fight in their new, beautifully complicated family.