The next morning, Evelyn added more data from her phone. She checked his phone every few minutes despite noting that the website said it would take at least 24 hours to train on the supplied data. Ayden was just glad that she was now taking a break from her research into alternative medicine.
The notification chime echoed through their apartment like a church bell. Ayden's hand trembled as he reached for his phone, but Evelyn was faster. Her fingers danced across the screen, brining up a text they'd been anticipating.
"Look—even the double exclaimation mark!" Evelyn said, her voice carrying a warmth he hadn't heard in months.
Ayden leaned over, chest tightening at the sight of Maya's profile picture—the one from her graduation, where she was rolling her eyes at having to wear the ceremonial neural interface along with her cap and gown. "That's a nice touch." Ayden said.
Then a selfie of Maya in her lab coat poppep up.
"That's..." The word 'impossible' died in his throat. "Did you upload her photos too?!" Ayden asked after a sigh. This new photo is the statistically most likely pixels given her uploaded photos and the current context.
Evelyn's fingers hovered over the reply box. "Alright let's try to reply! Should I remind her about that time she knocked over your coffee when visiting your lab?"
"Evelyn..." Ayden started, but she was already typing. He watched her face glow with animated joy as she recounted the memory, one he remembered so viscerally—Maya's laughter echoing through the lab, the smell of spilled coffee, the warmth of her hand on his shoulder as she helped him clean up the mess.
The response came instantly.
Evelyn laughed, the sound both beautiful and terrible. "That's exactly what she would say!"
But it wasn't. Not really. Ayden saw the subtle wrongness—the response was too quick, too perfect. Maya would have taken at least a few minutes to craft that reply, probably sending a few false starts first. She'd have added some obscure reference to Copenhagen interpretation just to show off. The emoji would have come in a separate message, an afterthought.
"I'm going to make some tea," he said, needing to move, to do something physical and real. In the kitchen, he filled the kettle by hand instead of using the auto-dispenser. The weight of the water, the slight resistance of the tap, the cool splash against his fingers—these small sensations grounded him in reality.
When he returned, Evelyn hadn't moved from her spot on the couch, but her posture had changed. She'd curled inward, protective, one hand pressed against her mouth as she read.
"Maya's telling me about a dream she had," Evelyn whispered. "About us hiking in the preserve, watching the sunset from that ridge we always loved." Her voice cracked. "She says she misses those moments when it was just the three of us, really there together, no screens or..."
Evelyn trailed off, finally looking up at him. Her eyes were wet behind her augmented reality contacts, the subtle glow of the interface reflecting off her tears. "It feels so real, Ayden. Maybe... maybe we don't have to lose her completely."
The tea trembled in his cup as he set it down. He wanted to take Evelyn's hand, to feel the warmth of her skin against his, to share this moment of grief in the physical world where their daughter once lived. But Evelyn's attention had already returned to the phone, her fingers composing another message to the ghost in the machine.
Ayden watched the love of his life slip further into this simulacrum of connection, and something inside him crystallized. Maya's dissertation had warned about this exact moment - when technology would offer a comfort so seductive it could replace the messy reality of grief. He thought of her in those final days, her insistence on being present, really present, even as her body failed her. How she'd made them promise to keep living in the real world, not just existing in digital echoes.
He understood now what she meant. His life's work suddenly felt hollow - he'd spent years pursuing scientific truth while technology perfected beautiful lies. And with every message exchanged with this ghost in the machine, they were breaking their last promise to their daughter.
His fingers hovered over the phone. One command could end this digital seance. But first, he needed to help Evelyn find her way back to the imperfect, irreplaceable present they shared.