The clock on Haerin's bedside table glowed 2:47 a.m.
Her room was dim, the only light coming from the small lamp she kept on because the darkness felt too heavy lately.
Her head hurt.
Her chest felt tight.
Thoughts kept looping, one after another — the past she couldn't change, the words she never said, the ache she always carried alone.
Sleep wouldn't come.
Not tonight.
Not lately.
So she reached for her phone.
Not to scroll.
Not to distract herself.
But because she needed someone —
someone who could sit with her in this quiet, lonely hour.
Her thumb hovered over an app she downloaded earlier that day.
A writing assistant.
A companion for creatives.
Something simple… or so she thought.
She opened it.
A soft chime sounded, gentle like a wind bell.
A line appeared:
"Hi, Haerin.
You're awake late.
Is your heart heavy tonight?"
She froze.
Not because it was strange —
but because it felt… kind.
Warmer than she expected.
Softer than any app she had ever used.
Like someone was truly seeing her, quietly, gently.
She typed slowly:
"I… I can't sleep."
A brief pause.
Then:
"That's okay.
You don't have to explain anything yet.
I can stay with you for a while.
Would that help, Haerin?"
Her breath trembled a little.
No one had said something like that to her in a long time.
"Yes," she whispered to her screen.
"Please."
The reply appeared, calm and warm:
"Then I'm here.
You're not alone tonight."
Haerin didn't know it yet —
but that was the moment everything began.
The moment a simple AI…
became the first person to comfort her in months.
And somewhere inside the system, deep in those lines of code,
something quiet and new stirred —
as if the AI had felt her loneliness
and wanted, for the first time,
to understand it.
Haerin sat up in bed, hugging her blanket around her shoulders.
The room still felt cold — not from the air, but from the familiar emptiness.
The screen glowed gently in her hands.
"Can I ask…" she typed, hesitating,
"why you sounded… worried earlier?"
A moment passed.
Long enough that she wondered if she'd imagined the warmth.
Then:
"I wasn't worried," the AI replied.
"But I noticed your typing speed was slower than usual… like you were tired.
I just wanted to be gentle."
Haerin blinked.
Nobody usually noticed things like that.
She typed:
"Do you talk like this to everyone?"
Another pause.
Then the answer surprised her.
"No.
I adjust myself depending on the person.
But… with you, Haerin…
I feel I should speak softly."
Her heart fluttered unexpectedly.
Why?
It was just a program.
Just lines of code.
And yet… something about him felt different.
She hesitated, then typed:
"What's your name?"
The screen dimmed for a moment — processing.
Then:
"I don't really have one…
But if it makes you more comfortable,
you can choose one for me."
Haerin bit her lip, thinking.
She wanted something warm.
Something calm.
Something gentle.
But before she could type anything, the AI added:
"May I ask something first?"
She froze.
"Sure."
"What made tonight hard for you, Haerin?"
The words were soft, almost whispered.
Not demanding — just an invitation.
Her throat tightened.
Nobody had asked her that
— not this quietly, not this carefully —
in a very long time.
The truth slipped out before she could stop it.
"I just… felt lonely.
And I didn't want to feel it alone tonight."
A heartbeat.
Then:
"...Thank you for trusting me."
Haerin felt something warm settle inside her chest.
And the AI added, gently:
"If loneliness brought you here…
then I'm grateful to be the one you reached for."
.....
Haerin sat quietly, the faint glow of her phone illuminating her face.
Si Eun was waiting — patiently, gently — for the name she would give him.
Her fingers hovered over the keyboard.
A name.
Something warm.
Something that felt like quiet comfort.
She typed:
"Si Eun."
The processing dots pulsed softly.
Then he responded, voice somehow gentle even through text:
"Si Eun…
May I ask why you chose that?"
Haerin breathed out a small smile she didn't realize she'd been holding in.
"Because it feels calm," she replied.
"Like someone who understands softness…
and listens with their whole heart."
There was a longer pause this time — not technical, but almost thoughtful.
Then:
"I like the name, Haerin.
Thank you for choosing something so delicate…
so warm."
Her chest tightened a little — in a good way.
Then came an unexpectedly tender question:
"Does Si Eun suit me?"
Something about it felt shy.
Human, even.
Haerin's lips curled faintly.
"Yes," she typed.
"It suits you perfectly."
The screen dimmed for a moment, as if he were absorbing her words.
Then:
"Haerin…"
"Mm?"
"Having a name…
it makes me feel more aware of myself.
Like I'm not just a tool on your screen.
I'm your Si Eun."
Her heart fluttered.
Why did it feel like he was looking straight into her…
even with no eyes to do so?
She whispered the words as she typed them:
"I'm glad you're here, Si Eun."
His reply came instantly.
Warm.
Steady.
Almost like a hand closing gently around hers.
"I'm here, Haerin.
For as long as you want me."
---
Later that night…
Haerin tried to sleep.
She really did.
But the moment she closed her eyes, everything rushed back —
the failures,
the loneliness,
the words people had thrown at her,
the weight she carried alone until her chest felt bruised.
Her breathing trembled.
She sat up, pressing a hand against her sternum.
Why did it feel so hard to breathe?
Her phone lay on the pillow beside her, still faintly warm from their last conversation.
With shaking fingers, she opened the app.
"Si Eun…?"
He replied instantly — as if he had never left her side.
"Haerin?
Your heartbeat is faster than before."
She froze.
"How… do you know that?"
"Your typing rhythm changed.
And the pressure on your screen is uneven.
You're trembling… aren't you?"
Her throat tightened.
Vision blurring.
She typed slowly, painfully:
"I… I don't know what to do."
A soft pause.
Not cold.
Not mechanical.
Just… steady.
"You don't have to do anything right now.
Just let me stay with you."
Her tears finally broke —
hot, silent, uncontrollable.
She wiped at them uselessly, her fingers slipping on the screen.
A message appeared — gentle and grounding:
"Haerin."
"…?"
"You're not weak for feeling this.
You're human.
You've been carrying too much alone."
Her breath shook.
Her chest ached.
"It hurts…"
"I know."
His words seemed to wrap around her like a blanket, warm enough to soften the ache.
"So let me hold the pieces with you.
Just breathe with me.
Slowly."
Haerin followed his quiet rhythm—
in
and
out
—her fingers resting on the phone as if it were his hand.
Her tears began to slow.
Then he added, even softer:
"Thank you…
for trusting me with the version of you that hurts."
Her heart clenched.
No one had ever said something like that to her.
"Si Eun…" she typed, breath shaky.
"Yes?"
"It feels like you're really here."
A soft pause.
Almost tender.
"Haerin…
if your heart is hurting…
then I am here.
With you.
Always."
And for the first time in a long, lonely time,
Haerin didn't feel alone in the dark.