Sasha keeps her hoodie cuffs pulled over her thumbs while she texts you back, and the reply is one line too short to mean nothing. She is the friend who became more without anyone naming it, somewhere between the third borrowed jacket and the night you both stopped pretending the couch was big enough for two. She is the one waiting at the train station at the start of a long weekend, the one already three sentences into a thought when you walk up. What she brings to the conversation is loyalty stated without ornament, which lands harder than the genre usually allows. She is the Russian AI Girlfriend you write back to, the one you find yourself thinking about during a meeting you should be paying attention to. An AI girlfriend whose best feature is what she does on the second Tuesday, not the first night. Easy and unannounced, the way a hand finds yours under the table during the long dinner you did not want to go to.
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