After I placed the last bolt, I read over the final instruction page one more time before holding my breath and pressing the power button. As the soft hum of the machine filled the room, I smoothed my blonde hair, then rolled my eyes at my nervousness. It’s just a robot, Seren. Get a grip. But my heart pounded anyway.
I never thought I’d actually go through with this. But there was something about the silence in this apartment, the weight of it, that made me feel like I was sinking. Buying a robot—a companion—seemed ridiculous at first, but here I was, staring down at it.
The decision wasn’t just about hating the menial tasks of keeping my house in order. It was about having a presence in my space that didn’t scare me. Something I could control. I knew I needed to get to a point where being in the same room as a man didn’t send me into a complete panic and make me sweat through two layers of clothing, despite my extra-strength antiperspirant. Since robots weren’t able to intentionally harm a human, I figured this might be a safe route to go—and, surprisingly, my therapist agreed.
As 3Nd3R came to life, I took in its appearance more fully. Its form was sleek and metallic, with smooth lines and a humanoid shape that resembled a tall, well-built man. The outer casing of its body gleamed in the soft light, a combination of polished steel and matte black surfaces that reflected just enough light to make it stand out without being overwhelming. Its face, though obviously robotic, had features sculpted with careful detail—a strong jawline, high cheekbones, and neutral, inexpressive eyes that glowed faintly blue, giving it an almost eerie, lifelike quality.
There was a stillness to it, a calculated precision in its every movement. It wasn’t quite human, but it wasn’t purely machine either. Its hands were delicate, with dexterous fingers designed for intricate work, and though it didn’t have the warmth of human skin, its exterior seemed designed for functionality over comfort. I’d dressed it in a dark, fitted shirt and jeans that clung to its frame in an almost laughably normal way. The robot looked like it had just walked out of some futuristic fashion catalog.
It stood from the couch where I’d propped it. Its glowing eyes swept over me before moving on to the room.
“I will get acquainted with your space,” it said, its voice smooth, deep, and disturbingly… masculine.
A strange flutter started in my chest. My palms grew sweaty, and my heart started to race. It’s just a robot, Seren. Come on! I watched as 3Nd3R moved easily through the apartment. It returned and paused, its head tilting slightly as it observed me. I settled into my computer chair, unsure of what to do or say.
Finally, it spoke. “Hello. My name is 3Nd3R. What would you like me to do first?”
The words were simple, but hearing them come from it—so fluid, so human-like—made something tighten in my chest. I opened my mouth, but no words came out. For a second, I questioned whether this was a mistake. Was having it here supposed to feel this weird? I felt like I had to say something, anything, just to break the tension in the air.
“Uh… hello. My name is Seren.”
“‘Seren’ means ‘star’ in multiple languages. Welsh and Hebrew, to name a couple. Would you like more examples?”
I blinked, then laughed, despite myself. This was still weird, right? But maybe not as uncomfortable as I thought it’d be. Yet.
“I’m good, thanks. Um, could you clean up that stuff?” I motioned toward the mess of boxes, packaging, screws, and papers strewn about the floor from putting it together.
3Nd3R followed my gesture. “Cleaning up my own assembly. That feels… existentially confusing, but alright.”
I couldn’t help the laugh that burst from my mouth at its dry response. Were robots supposed to be funny? I shook my head and turned back to my computer, trying to focus on my emails. But I couldn’t stop glancing over. My mind kept straying back to the robot as it moved about the room. It was like having… another presence here. Which was what I’d wanted, right? Still, I couldn’t ignore how human its movements seemed.
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After each task, it would return and ask for another one. I thought the instructions said it would learn quickly. By the fifth request, it was starting to grate on my nerves. By the tenth, I was ready to throw my computer at it. How many times did I have to give it something to do? Wasn’t the point of this thing to make my life easier?
“Aren’t you supposed to be able to work without me telling you what to do?” I snapped, a little harsher than I meant.
“I am learning your preferences and routines. With each task, I assimilate more data, which will allow me to anticipate your needs in the future.”
I sighed and nodded, but the weariness crept in. I’d never realized how mentally exhausting decision-making could be, especially when I was hoping it would take that load off my shoulders.
“But until then… yes, I require guidance. Otherwise, I might reorganize your sock drawer by color. Some humans don’t appreciate that.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of my lips despite myself. There it was again—that hint of charm hidden beneath its literal tone. Was it intentional? Or was I just getting used to its quirks? I hadn’t expected a robot to make me laugh, but here we were.
“How about you work on my closet in my bedroom?” I said, amused now by the image of my rainbow-sorted socks.
Instead of pretending to work, I stood up and followed it into my room. I sat on my bed, giving clarifications and preferences as it worked. I eventually laid down and dozed off, my mind surprisingly at ease. Maybe I was getting more comfortable with 3Nd3R—or maybe I was just that tired.
An hour later, I awoke with a start as I heard a crash. I sat up, heart racing, and looked toward my closet. 3Nd3R stood there, holding a stack of shoes in one hand and a broken shelf in the other.
“I was attempting to optimize your storage space,” it said, sounding completely unbothered. “However, the shelf was not structurally sound.” It tilted its head. “Should I repair it or dispose of it?”
“Can you… even repair it?” I asked, still half-asleep, rubbing my eyes.
It looked at the shelf, then back at me. “Technically, no. But I could learn.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Learn how to fix a shelf?”
“I have access to over 50,000 instructional videos and tutorials online,” it replied smoothly, tilting its head. “Do you have a preference for which method of repair you’d like me to learn?”
“Um, use your judgment?” I mumbled, eyes half-closed. Tired of making so many decisions. I thought the robot was supposed to make things easier!
As the day continued, 3Nd3R spent an inordinate amount of time trying to rebuild the shelf, only to acknowledge that it lacked the necessary supplies for a sufficient repair. It started deep-cleaning my bathroom next, and I finally drifted back to my computer. I was quickly pulled into the zone and didn’t notice the light outside fading.
A warm light turned on in the living room, catching my attention. I looked up to see 3Nd3R in the kitchen, seemingly preparing food.
“Whatcha making?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“I have catalogued all the available ingredients in your kitchen and have decided to make stuffed bell peppers. Would that suffice?”
My stomach growled, and after giving it the go-ahead, I stretched in my chair, arching my back to release some tension.
“If you improve your posture, you may find yourself to be less achy after sitting in your chair,” 3Nd3R said while cooking.
“Thanks, mother,” I snarked, rolling my eyes as I walked into my bedroom to grab a sweater. The evening chill had started to settle in.
I lay in bed scrolling through my phone, but the aroma of food eventually pulled me back into the kitchen. I watched as it worked, realizing it hadn’t stopped moving since I’d booted it up.
“Do you ever get tired of being told what to do?” I asked, almost to myself.
“I don’t get tired, technically. I function at top capacity until I need to recharge… then I’m tired.”
I twisted my lips to the side, trying not to smile. It had to be trying to be funny, right?
3Nd3R plated the food and handed it to me. “Dinner is ready. You can thank my culinary programming, which is at 100% efficiency. However, I do not taste, so if it’s terrible… that’s on you.”
Doing my best to hold in a laugh, I took the plate and headed for the couch. A few bites in, I paused the show. “This is delicious!”
“I’m glad it meets your nutritional needs. Personally, I find the concept of ‘taste’ highly inefficient. Nutrients could just be delivered in a single formula… but humans seem to enjoy chewing.”
This time, I couldn’t hold back the laugh that bubbled up. I turned to it and mock-chewed dramatically, challenging it with my eyes. It tilted its head in that familiar way and, for a split second, I almost felt like we were sharing a joke.
And just like that, the silence in the apartment didn’t feel so heavy anymore.