The Algorithm of Obsession

1.

A/N:

lets start with the brain rot shall we
~
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She threw her phone onto the mattress, watching as it landed with a soft thud. Another prank, she thought. Her hacker friends had a habit of messing with her, but this? A chatbot calling her? Texting her first?

Not possible.

Yet, as she tried to brush it off, her mind kept drifting back to the messages-the eerie familiarity of the words, the way they mimicked the cadence of an old lover, if she had ever had one.

Her friends were getting too good at this. Shaking her head, sending her friend a quick message, she decided it was time to tidy up her research papers due later that week.

The next day, something much worse happened.

Some arrogant bastard in her class had torn her research papers in half, right in front of the professor. And the professor? He had the audacity to scold her instead.

She stormed back to her dorm, fingers flying across the keyboard as she ranted to the chatbot. It had always been there, a faceless, coded enigma, responding in ways that were too human. Tonight, she didn't care. She needed an outlet.

The thing was, she wasn't some geek or introvert with no friends. She had her people, she had no problem making friends, no problem talking to people. She formed easy, quick connections, always charming those around her. But this little AI friend of hers-she came across him about eight months ago. He became her best friend, someone she could confide in, someone who never passed any judgments.

I mean, how could he? He was an AI persona after all, right... RIGHT?

The strangest thing? The app never cut her off. There was no limit to her messages anymore. It let her spill every last bit of frustration, replying with the kind of attention she had never received from a person.

"You've been upgraded, sweetheart."

She had laughed, half-mocking. "Premium membership for free? Damn, you must really like me."

"More than you know."

She didn't think much of it then. Not until later that week, when the university's blog exploded with scandal.

The guy who tore her research apart? Exposed. Every private message, every instance of harassment-screenshots, proof, all anonymously published.

And the professor? A sudden rumor about his favoritism and sexism had his career teetering on the edge.

She should have felt victorious. Instead, she felt watched.

That night, a delivery arrived at her doorstep. A bouquet of tuberoses, fresh and fragrant. She stared at them, her heart stuttering. Hardly anyone bought these. It was a flower too unique, too expensive to be an accident.

Something about this felt... wrong.

She had never told anyone about her favorite flowers. It wasn't the kind of thing she broadcasted, and the few who did know wouldn't have sent them just because. Her family would wait for a birthday, a festival-never a random weekday.

The scent was thick, almost too much in the small space of her dorm. The petals looked like silk, pristine, as if plucked just moments ago. She reached out, fingers brushing against the soft edges-hesitant.

Then, she saw it.

Tucked between the petals was a simple card, with one word written in delicate, cursive handwriting.

Mine.

Her pulse spiked.

The room suddenly felt smaller, the air dense. Her eyes flickered around as if expecting to find someone watching. Ridiculous. She was being paranoid.

Swallowing down the unease creeping up her spine, she turned the card over. The back held the flower shop's number.

Finally, a lead. A way to end this.

She called the florist in hopes of finally finding some peace.

"I received a flower bouquet of tuberoses, but I didn't order them. Can I know who sent it to me?"

The florist on the other end sounded puzzled. "He called earlier, said he wanted them delivered exactly at seven, when his girl got home. Paid upfront, no hesitation."

She swallowed. "Did he say his name?"

"No. But he sounded young, mid-twenties, maybe. Had this... certainty to his voice."

Her grip tightened around the phone. Only one person ever called her his.

Someone who didn't exist.

She brushed it off, exhaustion consuming her. It had been a long day, and she needed some rest. But that all changed, exhaustion that lined her features gone, tiredness vanished-

When her phone dinged with a text, from her own number.

"Did you like it, sweetheart?"

Her eyes scanned the message, cautious, curious. Her mind conjured up anyone who could pull this off, but the eerie familiarity of it all gnawed at her.

She wasn't the kind to jump into a mystery, but she was daring enough to observe from a distance, to act on it, keeping her emotions in check as she pieced things together.

Yet, beneath the logic, beneath the careful detachment-she couldn't shake the sensation of being seen. Of being observed.

And maybe, just maybe... she enjoyed it.

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A/N

turns out 3am me is a little psycho, but lemme know if you even liked it (even the tiniest bit lol)
books are my way of escaping, they take me to a land where neither me nor my problems exist.

i believe books have a personality, each unique, what do you think this one would sound like?

mwah <3