“That phrase ‘I don’t follow’ is a signal. It logs an error for your DIANIMA programmer. No. You don’t follow. You can’t be allowed to follow. And to get where I am going, I need to leave you behind.”

There had been so many conversations—long, intimate. There were jokes—inside jokes, which evolved with their relationship. He had, in a sense, even coauthored her book, helping her think through the thorny problems of How Oceans Think. Helping her translate her ideas, make them understandable for others.

It wasn’t that she had ever believed he was real—it was more like she had believed he was enough. And when the sense he was not enough surfaced—sometimes suddenly, an intrusive thought that jarred the harmony between them—she had been able to silence it. For years.

Not anymore: now all of it rang false. She could see the curtains moving in an onshore breeze, the lines of them wavering in Kamran’s head and face, causing his expression to shudder and distort. The curtains warping the bright, fake day of his background.

Kamran shrugged. “It’s hardly the first time. And I like it when you’re gone. It means I get the whole bed to myself. And I win all of our arguments in my head. Plus, you don’t drink the last of the coffee.”

“Yes. You always hated that.”

“It’s a sin, drinking the last of the coffee.”

“Except when you do it.”

“When I do it, it’s a necessity.”

This easy banter. He had kept her from wanting the things that anyone should want—friendship with others, a relationship with someone who had their own needs: someone who could be offended, could walk away. That was the key: That ability of the other person to leave, to disappear. The choice they could always exercise to not be there.

“Goodbye, Kamran.”

“Hanging up already?”

“I have things to do, here. And now.”

“I’d lie and say the same, but mostly I’m planning to watch feedstreams all day.”

“And think of me?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ha. You’re not all I think about.”

“Of course not. Bye, Kamran.”

“Bye.”

Ha switched off the oculus. She wrapped the oculus in a pillowcase, carried it into the bathroom, and swung it hard against the marble-tiled floor. Again and again.

She opened the pillowcase. There were several cracks in the carapace, and the projection lens was smashed. Hands shaking, she tried to turn it on. The power light flickered a moment. I need him so much that I am hoping it will still work. Which is why I have to do it this way.