Impossible Miracles

Chapter 6
Even If Its For A Second Longer

Sometimes he took her outside of the room. They did more and more of that as the days passed.

Even Len was starting to miss a world that wasn't smooth and white.

He looked over as she looked up into the sun, always in wonder. She had the most basic of heat sensors, so she should be able to detect the warmth. After all, she had always enjoyed warmth before, so it was pointless to deny her the luxury of being able feel what she had once adored.

His lips twisted a little when he remembered the girl's first steps out of the lab. So caught up in her sensations, she had instantly tried to locate the source of the heat and looked up. Straight at the sun.

In a fit of panic, he had grabbed her shoulder and turned her around. She had stared straight at him. No widening of eyes or even a quirk of an eyebrow.

("What the hell was that for?")

His hand had faltered and moved away. "S-sorry. You shouldn't look at the sun. It will hurt your eyes."

She had stayed quiet for two seconds, as though processing what he had said (a mere show for his comfort, as her brain was capable of instant comprehension). "My visual sensors would not have been-"

"Just don't!" He had surprised himself with the sudden loud voice. She didn't change her expression.

A silence.

"I understand, Brother."

There was one thing he did correctly – she learned quickly. Obvious though it was, especially because it was by his hands, he still marveled.

For once, he didn't care that her abilities were faster than those of a human. It made his goal so much easier to attain, almost not impossible.

The sakura tree outside of the house was in full bloom. He gazed up at the blossoms, and by his side she did the same.

Was it pathetic he felt kinship with a tree?

He coughed into his hand and viewed the red left behind with expressionless eyes. This had happened so many times before it was no surprise anymore. Without missing a beat, he took out his handkerchief and dried his hands.

The girl never said a word nor showed any worry. It was probably a matter of normality rather than a lack of feeling in this case, he mused. He had been doing it as long as she had known. Perhaps she considered this "normal" and thus nothing to be concerned about.

"Well, shall we start again?" Len said, turning to his now-pupil. He found it was easier to pretend to be cheerful around her as time passed.

She nodded and took her place in front of him. "I'm ready."

While he did not have any special talent in singing – he had never tried, though he had learned how to read music at Rin's persistence – there was no better way to teach this particular hobby of his sister than by following an example. The girl had learned to read sheet music quickly enough, at least.

She had taken to everything else quickly, and though she already knew almost everything Lin had known, this was the last aspect that he had been most reluctant to work on. After all, who had ever heard of singing without any feelings to back the words? It was like banging the keyboard and saying you were playing the piano.

He wanted Rin again, though. So he would try, even if it was ultimately a futile act. Singing required a heart.

Heart. It always came back to that. He did not know what to make of it. In fact, the most informative documents on the matter were philosophy texts, and those were hardly any help in his programming efforts.

He roughly shoved these unpleasant thoughts from his mind as words flowed from his mouth, matched by the more dulcet tones of the girl. Her voice was perfect, if not emotionless. He could almost imagine hearing her again if he didn't concentrate too hard on listening.

Singing, Len reasoned, was a matter of variety, in the girl's case. Repetition was pointless, as she hardwired everything into her memory. It was simply a matter of pulling up the procedure data again. Thus, he had scoured Rin's old music books, picking simple songs first and then working on longer and longer ones.

However, the longest ones were always the ones he composed himself – an inevitable, self-appointed job he undertook when the number of pieces to work on gradually shrunk.

Before long – too short – the song was over.

"That was great," the boy said with a smile, in high spirits. He ruffled the girl's hair before realizing what he was doing.

With a short cough, this one entirely voluntary, he backed away. "Th-that's great. Let's try that again?"

The girl nodded.