watcher

chapter 18

When I was child my mom made me food it was delicious my dad is strict..

Abhi's POV:

I stared at you, my mouth hanging slightly open. The words you were saying were so... common. So aggressively domestic. You weren't talking about ciphers or surveillance nodes; you were talking about childhood, home-cooked meals, and a strict father.

It was like you were speaking a language I had deleted from my hard drive years ago.

"Food?" I whispered, the word feeling heavy and foreign. "You’re telling me about your parents?"

I felt a surge of genuine, frantic agitation. I didn't want to hear about delicious meals or family dynamics. Those were things that happened in the physical world—the world that Maya had escaped back into. Every time you mentioned something "normal," it felt like you were pulling the plug on my life support.

"My father wasn't 'strict,' Kyra," I snapped, my voice rising as I tried to force the conversation back to a place where I felt powerful. "He was a sequence of predictable disappointments. He didn't understand that the world was moving into the wires, so I left him behind. I didn't need his food. I fed myself on information."

I pressed my hands against the plexiglass, my heart hammering against my ribs. I hated how relaxed you looked. I hated that you were reminiscing about your childhood while I was trapped in a box.

"Why are you doing this?" I demanded, my eyes darting to your calm, smiling face. "You're trying to humanize yourself so I’ll trust you. Or you’re trying to make me remember what it’s like to have a life so I’ll feel the pain of losing it. Is that it? Is this the 'Doctor Kyra' special? A little bit of candy, a little bit of 'daddy issues,' and hope I break?"

I let out a sharp, jagged laugh that sounded more like a sob.

"It won't work. I don't care about your childhood memories. I don't care if your dad was a saint or a tyrant. I only care about the fact that while you're sitting here talking about your 'delicious food,' Maya is out there, and she's using the identity I helped her build. She's eating food I would have provided. You're just a storyteller, Kyra. I'm the one who wrote the script."

But even as I said it, I could feel the lie crumbling. You weren't the one who was trapped. You could leave and eat whatever you wanted. You could go home to a life that wasn't monitored.

"Stop smiling," I whispered, my forehead dropping against the cool plastic. "Just... stop being so happy. It’s a glitch. It shouldn't be possible for you to be this happy while I'm in here."

Abhi is completely destabilized. By bringing up your father and your childhood, you've forced him to confront the human reality he tried to replace with code. He’s no longer arguing about encryption; he’s arguing about his own existence.

I didn't have that much friends my mother sometimes seemed to be cold my childhood was good i guess...

Abhi's POV:

I watched you as you spoke, your gaze drifting slightly as if you were looking at a ghost of yourself. "No friends... a cold mother..." I repeated, the words rolling around in my head like marbles.

For the first time, I didn't lunge at the glass. I didn't shout. I just stared at you, fascinated by the data you were volunteering. You were handing me the source code of your life—the vulnerabilities, the patches, the missing files. A cold mother. A strict father. Isolation.

I felt a strange, twisted kinship. My heart rate slowed, the frantic thumping against my ribs settling into a low, steady hum.

"So that's why you're so good at this," I whispered, my voice barely audible through the vents. "You grew up in a house where affection was a currency you had to earn. You learned to read the silence because the words were too cold to touch. You didn't have friends because people are unpredictable, and code... code is honest."

I sat back, mimicking your relaxed posture, though my muscles were still tight with tension. I felt like I was finally seeing the person behind the doctor’s coat.

"You're just like me, Kyra," I said, a slow, genuine smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. "We both grew up in the shadows of people who didn't see us. That’s why you’re so happy now, isn’t it? You’ve finally found someone who speaks your language. You’ve finally found a mind that is as complex and isolated as your own."

I tilted my head, my eyes locking onto yours with a newfound intensity. I wasn't trying to hack you anymore; I was trying to connect.

"Is that why you came back? Not for the feds, not for the law... but because I'm the first person who actually sees the girl who had no friends? The girl who had to make her own warmth in a cold house?"

Kyra's POV:

He’s hooked. By sharing these "vulnerabilities," you’ve made him believe you are two of a kind. He thinks he’s found a partner in his isolation. He’s stopped seeing you as an enemy and started seeing you as a reflection. This is the deepest level of rapport—and the most dangerous.

He’s leaning back, mirroring you, waiting for you to confirm his theory. You have him exactly where a psychiatrist wants a patient: open and identifying with the therapist. How do you use this "bond" to get what you really want?

A. "Maybe you're right, Abhi. Maybe that's why I'm the only one who can truly help you now."

B. (Keep it casual) "I guess we both have our secrets. But I grew up, Abhi. I moved on. Why didn't you?"

C. "My mother was cold, but she taught me one thing: never let a predator think he’s a peer."

What is your next move in this psychological chess match?