Impossible Miracles

Chapter 12
The Heart You Wished For

There was a change. Something had changed. He couldn't rightly pinpoint what, but it was there.

There were the subtle things, like her increasing independence or her reluctance to leave him alone. She would follow him around, and she would frown as though criticizing his movements, like she wanted to strap him down to the bed to keep him immobile but wouldn't dare.

She would hum a little when she thought, when she tried to decide what to cook for dinner. She would do meaningless gestures like tap her finger against her chin when she slogged through some of the more difficult musical scores, or give a small sigh when his fits stopped.

That night, something had changed, and he did not know what, but if he were to hazard a guess, it was almost like she…

Even now, he hesitated to think the word. It would be hoping too much.

It would be hoping for the impossible.

But she made her own decisions, not out of practicality but out of desire. She was starting to show impatience and anxiety, listlessness. Determination and joy, calm relaxation.

The little gesticulations were only the surface.

What had happened that night? He didn't know. He wasn't sure he'd ever find out, but if it was the work of a miracle…

There was nothing to do but to be thankful. Accept what he was given. Tie the gift horse's mouth shut so he couldn't look into it.

He didn't give "lessons" anymore. There was no need, not when there was nothing more to be taught. Instead, she continued on her own initiative, rehearsing the songs she had learned, cooking for him.

He supposed this would be interesting from a scientific perspective, if he cared to examine the phenomenon. She was still machine, a robot that acted based on program. Despite her gradual change, she learned as quickly as ever. He could still input code, but now there was another factor, like a second layer to her neural workings that controlled her actions and modulated them based off her own desires.

And despite all this, she still was not aware of the change herself.

"How did I do, Brother?"

He smiled. Her singing was as beautiful as ever; there was nothing to complain about there. "You did wonderfully."

She smiled, a reflex that was impossible a mere week ago. He dared to attribute the light reflecting off her artificial orbs to the joy of success she was experiencing. "Thank you, Brother. What song would you like to hear next?"

"No, that's enough-"

"We can sit here then. It appears you are deep in thought. Perhaps the fresh air will make it easier for you than sitting inside."

She was also beginning to anticipate him better and better as time went on, he thought.

The robot – no, this girl – was not Rin, and never would be.

She smiled differently. Rin smiled with a wide-toothed devil-may-care grin that seemed to shine like the sun. This girl … she had a close-lipped smile that was gentle, that warmed him to his soul.

But honestly, he could not find it within himself to tell her to do otherwise, simply because it felt too much like nipping a bud before it bloomed. She had come far, from an emotionless structure of metal that only knew "yes" or "no," that called him Master or Brother to…

…someone who looked after him, who made her own decisions, who decided that she liked singing and sketching, and perhaps wanted to try her hand in gardening.

The ethical question was a mess, but that was the least of his worries. He knew Rin. He knew the girl. He knew both of them, and he simply could not make the decision to take one and replace the other, make her into a mere shadow, cheap imitation.

No, not when she could be a full, complete being on her own.

He could not find it within himself to hamper her, to restrain her by imposing his view of Rin on her.

So he no longer "taught." He "shared." He told the stories, more out of remembering than out of a desire to transform the girl.

He supposed he should think of a name for her soon. A name of her own, that suited her person instead of what he wanted her to be.