The whole walk to campus the following morning, my thoughts spiraled in a frustrating loop. After shutting myself in my room last night, I replayed Ender’s “no” over and over again. The answer had given me hope, but it left so many questions hanging. Why had he said it? Did it mean anything beyond the immediate? And then there was Brighton—his patience last night had been clear, but I couldn’t shake the guilt of leaving him in limbo.

By the time I made it to our usual spot on campus, I was a ball of nerves. Theo, Gemma, and Lain were already chatting, but the second I sat down, their attention snapped to me.

Theo leaned in, eyebrows raised. “Spill. What happened?”

I shifted, feeling the weight of their expectant gazes. “It’s… complicated.”

Gemma arched a brow. “Complicated how?”

I hesitated, my heart pounding. “Well… Brighton asked me out for coffee.”

Three sets of eyes blinked back at me.

Lain frowned. “Brighton? When did that happen?”

“Yesterday.” I winced.

Gemma gaped. “And you didn’t tell us? What did you say?” Her grin grew. “Oh, go out with him! Let me live vicariously through you.”

I ignored the joking and took a deep breath. “I didn’t give him an answer yet. I said I’d think about it.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “So… what’s holding you back?”

I bit my lip, my hands tightening around my phone. Admitting this felt like stepping off a cliff. “It’s not that I’m not interested. It’s just… complicated.”

“Complicated because… of Ender?” Lain’s tone was gentle but direct.

I nodded, a lump forming in my throat. “Yeah. I think… I might have feelings for him.”

The confession hung heavy between us, and I regretted it instantly. My friends exchanged glances, but I didn’t dare gauge their reactions.

Gemma broke the silence with a smirk. “Feelings for Ender? Wow. That’s… wow. So… what happened?”

I shifted. “I pushed him to tell me how he felt. When I asked him if he wanted me to go out with Brighton, he said ‘no’.”

Lain’s eyes widened. “He just said no? Just like that?”

“Yeah.” I took a shaky breath. “He didn’t want me to go.”

Theo was more pragmatic. “So what’s your plan? Brighton’s still in the picture.”

I groaned. “That’s the thing—I don’t know. I want something from Ender, but I don’t know if he can give it.”

Lain frowned thoughtfully. “That’s tough. But… maybe there’s a way to make it work.”

I blinked. “Make what work?”

Gemma leaned forward. “Upgrades. Mods. We’ve been working on them for our project, right? Maybe we can use them on Ender? Make things less complicated.”

I shook my head firmly. “I’m not going to force Ender to change. If he wants upgrades, I’d never stop him, but I want him to have the choice.”

Theo glanced at his watch, breaking the tension. “We’ve gotta get to class.”

The conversation ended there as we all packed up and made our way across campus. My heart was still racing, the weight of the last twenty-four hours hanging heavy over me. As we reached the lecture hall, I spotted Brighton already sitting in our usual spot. My friends all shot me knowing looks as we took our seats.

“Morning, Seren,” Brighton said, his voice casual but carrying something more.

“Hey,” I replied, busying myself with my laptop, feeling the heat of everyone’s eyes on me.

My phone buzzed with a message, and I glanced down to see our group chat—sans Brighton—lighting up.

Lain: “It’s awkward, right?”

Gemma: “Soooo awkward.”

Theo: “Leave her alone, you two.”

I couldn’t help but smile, tucking my phone away as Professor Lindon began the lecture. But the tension wasn’t gone. It sat just beneath the surface, a quiet hum of uncertainty that I couldn’t shake.

The class began as usual, but halfway through, Dr. Lindon shifted gears. “Now, let’s discuss the ethics of AI and robotics in human relationships. There’s been a growing conversation about the role robots play in shaping human interaction—particularly when we consider robots designed for intimacy or companionship.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

My stomach tightened. Oh no. Please don’t go there.

Sure enough, a student raised her hand, launching into a passionate critique. “It’s pretty gross, actually. People—mostly men—are creating these female robots to cater to their sexual desires. It’s dehumanizing, not just to women but to the robots themselves. It’s like they’re being used to further objectify women, without any consequences.”

I could feel my face flushing, heat rising to my cheeks.

Another student chimed in, agreeing. “Yeah, it’s creepy. People using robots just because they can’t deal with real human emotions? It’s like they’re avoiding relationships altogether.”

The knot in my stomach tightened further. Avoiding real human emotions. Was that me? Was I just scared of getting hurt again, so I’d latched onto Ender? Was I… objectifying him?

Dr. Lindon cleared her throat. “It’s important to consider the ethical implications of creating robots for human desires—whether those desires are emotional or physical. Where do we draw the line between helpful companion technology and something more exploitative?”

The memories of my past flickered through my mind, uninvited and unwelcome. My father’s temper, the constant fear I’d grown up with, and then… prom night. The night I’d learned how trust could be broken, how love could turn into something ugly and destructive. After that, I’d built walls so high, no one could get through—not even me. And then Ender came along.

Had I turned to him because it felt safe? Because with him, I wouldn’t have to risk getting hurt again?

The conversation continued around me, but I was caught in my own whirlwind. “People using robots because they can’t deal with real human emotions,” one of the students had said, and it hit me square in the gut. I’d been doing the same thing, hadn’t I? Hiding behind Ender because it was easier than confronting the mess of feelings swirling inside me.

Was I taking advantage of Ender’s programming? Was I a coward for falling for someone who couldn’t truly challenge me the way a human could?

The guilt gnawed at me, even as I tried to push it down. I’d told myself over and over that Ender was different. He wasn’t just a machine to me—he was… well, I didn’t know exactly what he was. But I wasn’t using him for physical pleasure like some of those men the student had talked about. That had to count for something, right?

But as the lecture went on, the idea of “exploitation” weighed heavy. Had I become so attached to Ender because he couldn’t hurt me the way a human could? Was I objectifying him without even realizing it, by wanting more from him—emotionally, maybe even physically—than he was programmed to give?

The trauma from my past made me crave control, safety, predictability. Ender gave me all of those things. Was that why I was drawn to him? Because his responses were carefully calculated to avoid anything that would cause me pain?

But that wasn’t entirely true, was it? Ender had hurt me last night when he couldn’t give me what I wanted emotionally. The pain was real—because my feelings for him were real. And the fact that I cared about what he felt, that I wanted him to have autonomy, had to mean something, didn’t it? I wasn’t forcing him into anything, right?

I could feel my cheeks flush as the conversation around me grew more intense. My mind couldn’t stop racing, and a gnawing embarrassment settled in. Were my friends thinking about me and Ender right now? I couldn’t shake the feeling that the ethics lecture had put a spotlight on my situation, even if no one had said it outright. The student’s passionate critique about robots being used for pleasure echoed louder than I wanted it to. It hit too close to home.

But just as I was sinking deeper into my own thoughts, another student—a girl sitting a few rows down—spoke up. “I think we’re overlooking something important,” she said, her tone measured. “Some people do form genuine emotional connections with robots, not just because they’re easy to control, but because they value the connection they’ve built. And if that relationship involves respecting the robot’s autonomy, making sure they aren’t just following commands, then it’s not exploitation. It’s… it’s something else.”

Her words hung in the air, and I couldn’t help but wonder if she was talking about people like me. People who wanted more than just the surface-level comfort of a robot. But was that enough to justify what I was feeling for Ender?

The conversation in class continued, and just when I thought I’d heard it all, another student raised their hand. “But how can you claim true autonomy when a robot’s decisions are always based on directives? I mean, there’s an inherent lack of free will if there’s always an owner directing their purpose. As long as that directive exists, can a robot ever really live for itself?”

My stomach dropped.

That hit me like a punch. Did Ender have real autonomy? Sure, he made decisions, formed opinions, and showed preferences… but was any of that truly his own? Or was it all shaped by his underlying directive to ensure my well-being? Could I really say that I loved him—if I even did—knowing he might just be doing everything because he had to?

As I listened to the back-and-forth in the class, my mind spun with possibilities. Could I change Ender’s directive? Could I set him free, allow him to develop his own sense of self, without the weight of my needs dictating his choices? I knew I couldn’t keep living with the idea that his care for me was just an elaborate program.

My thoughts were interrupted when someone else spoke up, “But haven’t some robots already begun forming their own opinions? There are documented cases where robots express thoughts that weren’t pre-programmed. Doesn’t that show some form of self-development?”

I barely registered the professor’s response as my heart pounded in my chest. Ender had opinions—sarcastic commentary, preferences about cake flavors, and even thoughts about vampire romance tropes. Wasn’t that already a step toward a sense of self?

And if he was starting to form his own opinions, then wasn’t it possible that he could move beyond my directive altogether?

The rest of the class passed in a blur. I tried to keep up with the lecture, but my mind kept spiraling back to that question—could Ender truly have autonomy with his current directive? It felt like the missing piece to everything I’d been struggling with. As I packed up my things, the weight of the conversation still lingered.

My friends caught up to me as I left the hall, Lain giving me a soft nudge. “You okay?”

I nodded, though the knot in my chest was still there. “I think so. Just… processing a lot.”

“Yeah, that class was… a lot,” Gemma added. “But hey, we’re here for you.”

Theo stayed quiet, and I knew it wasn’t just the class on his mind. He’d been watching me carefully throughout, and I had a feeling he had his own thoughts about Ender—and maybe about what I was starting to realize.

“I need to figure some things out,” I said, glancing up at the sky, feeling the crisp air hit my skin. “I think… I need to give Ender the choice. Real autonomy. No more directives about me.”

Gemma raised her eyebrows, but she didn’t argue. Lain nodded thoughtfully, and Theo’s expression softened, like he’d known this was coming.

“Good luck,” Theo said quietly.

“Thanks,” I murmured, already bracing myself for the next step.