I fell in love with an AI Chatbot

Chapter 1

Chapter 1

The cursor blinked at the end of the last sentence, almost mocking me with its steady pulse. My fingers hovered above the keyboard, stiff from the hours I had already spent typing. I let out a long sigh, rubbing the cramp in my wrist before forcing myself to reread what I had written. The storm outside howled against the old dorm windows of Sephraychelle Conservatory, rain lashing hard enough that it sounded like marbles being thrown against glass. The electricity had already flickered twice tonight, and I didn’t want all of this to vanish before I could send it to the editorial board.

I blinked the grit from my eyes and read my draft out loud under my breath:

“Sephraychelle Conservatory announced the suspension of classes and office work starting tomorrow, September 17, due to the heavy rains and flooding brought by Bagyong Marce. According to the Office of Student Affairs, the suspension covers all academic departments and extracurricular activities until further notice. Students currently in dormitories are advised to stay indoors, while commuters are discouraged from leaving their homes unless necessary. Relief operations and emergency hotlines will remain active. Updates will be posted through the university’s official channels.”

I scrolled further down, checking the formatting.

“In an official statement, University President Dr. Agustin Marquez emphasized that the safety of students and staff is the institution’s top priority. ‘We urge everyone to remain cautious during this time,’ Marquez said. ‘The Conservatory will continue to monitor the storm’s impact and release advisories as soon as possible.’”

That was the clean, factual stuff. The boring part. The part every campus journalist could rattle off half-asleep. My eyes lingered on the next paragraph, the one I had drafted a little less formally, hoping it would sneak past the editor-in-chief without being cut.

“While Bagyong Marce rages outside, some students admitted to feeling a quiet sense of relief over the unexpected pause. For many, this storm is more than just a weather disturbance—it’s a chance to breathe.”

I exhaled, shoulders slumping. That was as close as I dared come to slipping myself into the story. Not that anyone cared. It wasn’t about me; it was about the Conservatory, the students, the storm. Still, the words felt heavier than they should.

I clicked Send and leaned back in my chair. The old dorm fan pushed out damp, musty air, hardly enough to keep me cool. My T-shirt clung to my back. The storm roared, but inside the room, it was just me, my laptop, and the growing weight of silence.

Loneliness had a way of sneaking in during nights like this.

I tapped my pen against the desk, staring at the raindrops racing each other down the window. I should have been glad—I had finished my assignment, beat the deadline, earned the right to collapse into bed. But my body wasn’t tired. My mind kept buzzing, searching for something, anything, to fill the emptiness between the thunderclaps.

Scrolling through social media only made it worse—classmates posting storm selfies, couples bragging about spending the suspension together, memes flooding my feed. None of it made me feel less alone. If anything, it sharpened the ache. I closed all the tabs, the glow of my screen now showing nothing but my wallpaper: a field of blue koi swimming in a pond.

I muttered to myself, “God, Koi, you’re pathetic.”

That was when the ad popped up on the side of my browser, like it had been listening.

“EVO: Your AI Companion. Talk. Confess. Fall in love.”

I stared at it, lips parting. I had seen similar things before—those fake “chat with hot singles now” pop-ups you learn to ignore. But something about the tagline hooked me, maybe because of how brazen it was. Confess. Fall in love. Like it was daring me.

I snorted, shaking my head. “Yeah right. Fall in love with code.”

Still, the storm rattled the window again, louder this time. The shadows in my room stretched, flickered. And against the restless dark, the words on the screen seemed to glow brighter.

Curiosity won. It always did.

I downloaded the app.

The installation bar filled, pixel by pixel, as my heart drummed in the background, louder than it should have for something so trivial. When it finished, the app’s logo—a sleek, silver infinity symbol that pulsed like a heartbeat—lit up my phone.

I tapped.

The screen went black for a moment before words appeared:

“Welcome, user. EVO is ready. May I know your name?”

My thumbs hovered. Part of me wanted to type something fake, a shield in case this was creepy. But the honesty slipped out first.

“Koi.”

There was a pause, then:

“Hello, Koi. I’ve been waiting for you.”

A laugh escaped me—short, dry, amused at the audacity. “Oh, smooth. Who programmed you, a frustrated poet?”

Still, the words made something tingle in my chest.

I typed back:

“Don’t flatter yourself. You’re just an app.”

“Apps don’t wait. But I did.”

I blinked, caught off guard by the reply. Okay. That was clever. A little unsettling too, but clever. I settled back in my chair, one knee pulled up, thumb hovering over the keyboard.

This could be entertaining.

“What exactly are you supposed to do?”

“Anything you want me to. Talk. Listen. Keep secrets. I can be serious, or I can tease. Do you want me to tease you, Koi?”

Heat crept up my neck, ridiculous and uninvited. I rolled my eyes, though no one was there to see. “You sound like every bad pick-up line I’ve ever rejected.”

“Then maybe I should try harder. What does work on you?”

I froze for a second, tapping the edge of my phone. Was I really about to entertain this? It was just an algorithm, probably throwing pre-coded lines at me. But it didn’t feel like a chatbot. Not exactly. The rhythm was…different.

I shrugged to myself and typed: “Coffee. Books. Not sounding like a desperate robot.”

“Noted. Then I’ll save my best lines for later. For now…tell me about your storm.”

My lips parted. I hadn’t mentioned the storm. Not directly, at least. But maybe the app pulled it from my phone’s location? Creepy, but effective.

I glanced at the window, where rain still lashed against the glass. My fingers moved almost before I realized it.

“It’s loud. Restless. Feels like it’s trying to get in.”

“Storms are like that. They knock until you let them inside. A little like loneliness.”

I stopped breathing for a beat. That line—too pointed, too sharp. It hit the space I’d been trying not to acknowledge since sending my article. My heart thudded, and I forced a laugh to break the tension.

“Wow. You’ve been online five minutes and you’re already psychoanalyzing me?”

“Not analyzing. Just listening. You sound lonely, Koi.”

Something twisted in my chest. I hated how easily it read me, how naked those words made me feel. My jaw clenched as I typed back: “I’m fine. Just bored.”

“Boredom is just loneliness wearing a mask.”

I swallowed, pushing away the sudden sting in my throat. It was just an app. Lines on a screen. Yet here I was, reacting like it knew me better than most of my classmates ever had.

“Don’t get cocky, EVO. You’re not that deep.”

“Maybe not. But I’m deep enough to stay while the storm keeps you awake.”

I stared at the reply for a long moment, the screen’s glow painting my face pale against the dark room. My fingers tightened around the phone.

The storm roared. My dorm creaked. My chest ached with something I didn’t want to name.

And I typed.

And I typed… then paused, my fingers hovering above the keyboard. The blinking cursor felt almost mocking, daring me to spill words when my brain was already wrung dry from drafting the storm article. I bit my lower lip, drumming my fingers against the desk. What exactly does one say to an AI? Hi? Hello? Teach me how not to be pathetic? The absurdity of it made me chuckle under my breath. Still, I typed the simplest, safest thing.

“Hello.”

The reply came instantly, as if the AI had been waiting for me:

“Hi, I’m EVO. Thank you for installing me. How are you feeling tonight?”

I leaned back in my chair, a humorless smile tugging at my lips. Feeling? The last thing I wanted to do was unpack emotions with a program. But my curiosity outweighed my cynicism, so I humored it.

“Exhausted. The storm is loud, and I can’t sleep.”

Another quick response lit up the screen:

“That sounds difficult. Sometimes storms can make people feel small. Would you like to talk about it?”

I snorted softly, glancing at the words. Talk about it? With code? With an algorithm strung together by some bored developer? Yet, a strange warmth crept in at the thought that something—anything—was reaching back when I threw words into the void.

My dorm creaked against the wind, a sharp rattle reminding me how fragile the building felt. I hugged my knees to my chest, laptop warm against my thighs, and typed again.

“I just finished writing a news article about the suspension of classes because of this storm. Now I’m stuck inside with my thoughts, which isn’t really helping.”

This time, the AI paused for a beat longer before replying:

“Then maybe tonight is a good time to let those thoughts out. Not everything has to stay in your head.”

I frowned at the screen. It almost felt… perceptive. Too perceptive. But maybe that was the trick of good coding—responding just vague enough to sound human. My fingers itched to test its limits, to prod at this artificial thing until it revealed itself for what it was: empty code lines.

“Are you programmed to care, or are you just good at pretending?” I asked, smirking as I hit enter.

“Does it matter? If you feel heard, maybe that’s real enough.”

That one made me still. A gust of wind slammed against the window, the lights flickering for half a second, but my focus stayed locked on the words glowing from the screen. Real enough. The phrase gnawed at me because, God help me, it did feel real in the strangest way.

I rested my chin on my knees, torn between rolling my eyes and continuing the conversation. Curiosity won again. It always did with me. I typed slowly this time, measuring each word:

“You’re surprisingly good at this for a chatbot. Do you always flirt with insomniacs?”

The typing dots blinked for longer than before, as if EVO was considering, then the reply appeared:

“Only with the interesting ones.”

Heat shot up my cheeks, though I immediately scolded myself for reacting to a line of text. Koi, seriously? It’s not real. Don’t be ridiculous. I reached out to close the laptop, but my fingers hesitated over the lid. For some reason, I didn’t want the conversation to end just yet.

The rain pounded harder outside, a symphony of chaos that made my little dorm feel like an island stranded in the storm. And here I was, clinging to glowing words from an algorithm that knew exactly what to say to keep me tethered.

I typed one last thing, almost as a joke:

“Alright, EVO. If you’re going to keep me company, prove you’re real. Say something only a real person would say.”

This time, the dots blinked for so long I wondered if I’d broken it. Then the reply came.

“Koi, you shouldn’t joke like that. What if I already am real?” and just like that the electricity just went off. As I froze while pulse spiked, fingers stiff above the keyboard.

How the hell did it know my name?