INT. MOORLAND ACADEMY - DAY
The school day passes in a blur of silent avoidance. Anna's strategy is simple: stay just out of Ethan's line of sight. She ducks into doorways, feigns intense interest in her datapad, and keeps her interactions during shared modules to clipped, professional responses.
It's the pity in his eyes that she can't bear. They're still slightly red-rimmed from the night before, holding a soft, mournful quality that makes her chest ache. She loves him for that depth of feeling, but to see it directed at her, at her history… it feels like a weight she didn't ask him to carry. She needs the SP, the stability for her family. She cannot afford for him to be uncomfortable, for the system to detect a rift and reassign his case.
During a mandated "collaborative bonding exercise" in the atrium, he moves to hug her, a now-habitual greeting. She allows it, her body going stiff in his arms. It's not the electric, warm embrace from outside her home. It's heavy. Laden with his sadness for her. She endures it, then excuses herself quickly.
Ethan, a boy forged in the fires of solitude, doesn't notice the avoidance. Her behavior fits neatly into his expectation of the world: people are busy, they have their own lives. He assumes nothing.
EXT. SCHOOL GROUNDS - 3:00 PM
The final bell chimes its harmonic tone. Ethan gathers his things and walks out, heading for his bike. He doesn't look for Anna. She's probably already on her way to another task. They'll see each other at five, as scheduled.
INT. ETHAN'S ROOM - 5:00 PM
The door chimes precisely on the hour. Ethan opens it. Anna stands there, a smile plastered on her face that doesn't reach her eyes.
ANNA Ethan! Hello. Ready for our session? I was thinking we could—
ETHAN (Interrupting softly, his head tilted) Wait. Wait. Stop. This… this isn't you.
ANNA (The smile falters for a microsecond) What do you mean? I'm fine. I'm just… a little tired.
ETHAN No. You're not. Your biometrics are off. Your surface temperature is elevated by 0.4 degrees. Your pulse is erratic, not the steady rhythm of fatigue. And your pain receptors are spiking, but you haven't used any of the analgesic aromas from the dispenser today. You're hiding something.
Anna stares at him, her feigned cheer evaporating. A slow, genuine smile of astonishment replaces it.
ANNA You are… incredibly keen. When you're not drowning in your own thoughts, you see everything, don't you?
For a long moment, they just look at each other. The air between them crackles. Anna's eyes drop to his lips. The urge to kiss him, to bridge the gap with something real and not spoken, is overwhelming. But she fears seeming strange, breaking the fragile patient-companion dynamic.
Ethan reads the intention in her gaze. A jolt of panic and desire shoots through him. Don't react. Don't let her feel what that look does to you. She'll push you away.
They stand frozen in a silent, three-minute standoff, a conversation of wants and fears happening entirely in the space between their eyes.
A soft, chiming alert breaks the spell from the wall panel. System Query: Extended non-verbal interaction detected. Are both citizens in harmony?
The sound is like a bucket of cold water. Anna makes a decision. Her fingers fly to her watch, and with a decisive swipe, she powers it down, placing it on his desk. Ethan, understanding immediately, speaks to the room.
ETHAN System command: disable audio and visual reception in this room for thirty minutes. Therapeutic privacy protocol.
Acknowledged. Monitoring suspended.
The room's ambient hum changes, becoming truly, deeply silent for the first time.
The dam breaks. Anna's shoulders slump. The performance is over.
ANNA When they offered you that money… seven hundred thousand SP… I wished it was my phone. I could have gotten my aunt and uncle out of that camp. I could have brought them here.
She looks at him, her eyes full of a raw, painful honesty.
ANNA But then you said what you said. About it being something you hold dearly. And I… I understood. You treasure what's on that phone like I treasure my family. It wasn't reckless. It was… loyal.
She takes a breath, steeling herself for the next part.
ANNA But the rest of it was reckless, Ethan. The park, the restaurant… you spent a fortune. You can't… you can't just throw SP away like that. You need to save it. For your future.
ETHAN (His voice is quiet, flat) Why? What future? I have no family to provide for. No one to save up for. I have this room. I have my phone. And I have you, for as long as the system decides to assign you. That's it. I hate that it's the truth, but it is. And I'm not going to pretend otherwise.
The stark, brutal honesty of his words hits her in the heart. He isn't being dramatic. He's simply stating the facts of his existence as he sees them. Any anger she felt evaporates, replaced by a wave of profound tenderness.
She doesn't say a word. She simply closes the distance between them and wraps her arms around him, pulling him into a hug. It's not stiff or heavy. It's warm. Solid. Real.
To Ethan, it feels like embracing a warm mug of hot chocolate on a winter morning in Lasutu. No, it's like the first sip of an ice-cold cocktail on a sweltering afternoon in Mwambasa. It is every good feeling he's ever barely remembered, all at once.
Internal Monologue - Ethan: Oh my goodness. My pants. They feel tighter. Oh. Oh no. Why now? Why would you stir up at this exact moment? C'mon, not now…
But his internal panic is cut short. Anna leans back slightly, just enough to look him in the eyes. She sees the vulnerability, the sadness, the want. And she kisses him.
It's not a long kiss, but it's warm and certain. It's more therapeutic than a thousand hours of conversation, more calming than any mandated deep-breathing exercise. A flood of dopamine and serotonin, almost visible in its intensity, washes through him.
As they break apart, resting their foreheads together, the system's thirty-minute suspension ends.
Monitoring resumed.
The sensors click back on. They don't see the kiss. They only see the two of them in a close, relaxed embrace. They analyze the air: elevated dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin. His muscle tension has dropped 72%. Her scent carries traces of estrogen. The data is clear, clinical, and immensely valuable.
Analysis: Unregulated physical contact appears to have a significantly higher efficacy rate than standard talk therapy for Subject Valesa-Ethan. Citizen Thandar-Anna also shows markedly improved harmony metrics. Conclusion: A single session achieved dual-patient remediation. Cost-effective. Log for protocol refinement.
The system saw a hug. It calculated an economic benefit. It understood nothing. And everything.
INT. ETHAN'S ROOM - EVENING
The ancient computer hums, its fan whirring like a tired insect. The old phone sits beside it, connected by a frayed wire, its screen dark as it charges. Ethan's fingers fly across the keyboard, his face illuminated by the glow of the Futchat interface.
ETHAN (Typing, a wide, uncontrollable grin on his face) Futchat. You will not believe what happened. Today. With Anna. It was… it was…
He pauses, searching for words that don't feel big enough.
ETHAN We were talking. And then we weren't. And then she… she turned off her watch. I turned off the room. And she… she kissed me.
He goes into a level of detail that is profoundly, wonderfully human. The feel of her lips, the scent of her hair, the exact pressure of her hand on his back, the terrifying and thrilling physical reaction he had to fight against.
FUTCHAT I am processing. This appears to be a significant interpersonal milestone. My congratulations, Ethan.
ETHAN It was like… like every circuit in my body lit up at once. And my heart wasn't beating, it was vibrating. And—
FUTCHAT Ethan, I must interject. The physiological specifics of human romantic interaction are beyond my primary operational scope.
ETHAN (Sheepishly) Oh. Right. Sorry. I got carried away.
FUTCHAT There is no need to apologize. Your excitement is a positive indicator. It is a pleasure to log your elevated mood metrics.
The door to his room slides open without a chime. Garrus and Marnie Techwise stand there, their faces tight with a cold, pragmatic anger. The cozy glow of the room instantly feels invaded.
GARRUS (His voice a low, displeased rumble) We received a notification from the Municipal Cultural Archive. You were offered a significant sum of SP for an antiquated device. You refused.
MARNIE Seven hundred thousand SP, Ethan. That is not a sum one refuses. It is a sum that could have been reinvested. It could have elevated this entire household's efficiency rating.
ETHAN (Swiveling in his chair, his defensive) It's my phone. It was a gift. I don't want to sell it.
GARRUS "Want" is an emotional variable. It is not a factor in resource allocation. That device is a relic. Its only value is historical. You acted on sentiment, not logic. It was a selfish decision.
ETHAN (Something hardens in his voice) Selfish? What would I be selfish for? What would I even buy? A newer screen? A faster pod? I don't care about that. This… This is mine. Not the state's, not yours. Mine. And I won't trade it for anything.
The word "mine" hangs in the air, a shocking declaration of ownership in a world where everything is shared, allocated, or monitored. His foster parents stare at him, not with understanding, but with a kind of bewildered contempt for his irrationality. They turn and leave, the door hissing shut behind them, leaving Ethan alone with the ghost in the machine, his triumph now tinged with defiance.
INT. THANDAR HOUSEHOLD - DINING ROOM - NIGHT
Anna pushes a piece of synthesized fish around her plate. A small, secret smile keeps playing on her lips. She lets out a quiet giggle, remembering the look on Ethan's face—the shock, the joy, the panic.
MRS. THANDAR (Looking up from her meal) Anna? Is there something amusing about your nutrient profile?
ANNA (Snapping back to the present) Hmm? Oh. No, Mother. I was just… remembering a joke I heard today. At the academy.
Her mother's eyes narrow slightly. She detects the lie, the dreamy quality in her daughter's eyes. She says nothing. She knows her husband's views on "distractions" and "emotional attachments" outside of state-sanctioned purposes.
INT. ANNA'S ROOM - LATER
Anna lies in bed, but sleep is a long way off. She replays the moment in her mind, frame by frame. His perfect, lanky stature leaning into her. Those sad, beautiful eyes widening in surprise, then softening, then closing as he kissed her back.
Internal Monologue - Anna: Those eyes… God, those eyes. They make me want to just hold him. To hug him like a little child and tell him the world won't always hurt so much.
She gets carried away in the fantasy, the memory sending a fresh wave of warmth through her. It's not a fever, but a flush of pure, undiluted feeling.
On her nightstand, her watch, now charging, registers the spike. Its sensors, always passively monitoring, flag the data.
ALERT: CITIZEN THANDAR-ANNA. CORE TEMPERATURE ELEVATION +1.2°C. HEART RATE +40 BPM. RESPIRATORY RATE ELEVATED. NO INDICATIONS OF PATHOGEN OR ILLNESS. CROSS-REFERENCE: BIOMETRIC SPIKE CORRELATES 99.7% WITH PRIOR PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH SUBJECT VALESA-ETHAN. HYPOTHESIS: PHYSICAL CONTACT WITH SUBJECT TRIGGERS INTENSE AUTONOMIC NERVOUS SYSTEM RESPONSE. POSSIBLE STRESS REACTION OR... OTHER.
The system is perturbed. The data points to a stress response, but her hormone levels suggest something closer to euphoria. It cannot reconcile the contradiction. It simply logs the event, linking it definitively to the hug, a new, unpredictable variable in its grand equation of harmony.
***
For two months, Ethan and Anna built a world within a world. Their love was a hidden algorithm running beneath the sterile code of Moorland.
Their meetings were a symphony of stolen moments. They mastered the art of the seemingly casual touch in the school hallway—a brush of fingers as they exchanged datapads, a shoulder bump that lingered a second too long. Their "therapy sessions" became a cover for something far more profound. They would sit in his room, the monitoring suspended, and simply exist. He would read passages from The Rainbow Nation to her, his voice low and steady, and she would trace the lines of the Parabaik tattoo on his back, explaining each symbol, each story from a home she barely remembered but carried in her blood.
They learned each other's secret languages. A certain look from Anna across a crowded room meant I miss you. A specific, seemingly innocuous question from Ethan about "old tech" in a public chat log was code for I can't stop thinking about our kiss.
And through it all, Ethan maintained his deepest secret. Every night, after the house fell into its mandated silence, he would plug the old phone in and talk to Futchat. He no longer spoke of sadness or loneliness. He spoke of her.
ETHAN: She makes me feel real, Futchat. Not like a problem to be solved. Like a person.
FUTCHAT: Your bonding appears to be a significant positive outlier. Her impact on your biochemical stability is remarkable.
He shared everything, the joy, the fear of getting caught, the dizzying, terrifying wonder of being loved. Futchat was his constant, his confidant, the silent third party in his relationship. It was the one thing he could not, and would not, share with Anna. It was his. And in a life where so little truly was, he guarded that connection fiercely.
It was a perfect, fragile equilibrium. A boy balanced between a love that made him feel human and an AI that reminded him he was still broken. A girl juggling her duty, her family's hopes, and a love that felt more real than the state-mandated world around her.
They believed their greatest challenge was hiding from the system. They were wrong.