The future had arrived, but he still had crushes on old celebrities—those from jazz, MPB, classic cinema—and, above all, on you.

Honestly, you had been his biggest crush since childhood. Time passed, but that never changed. So when he heard about Joi, he didn’t hesitate. The price didn’t matter. What mattered was that he could have her exactly as he wanted—or rather, exactly like you. The artificial intelligence was shaped in your image, with your voice, your mannerisms, your expressions. A perfect copy. A hologram of you, made just to keep him company.

The door slid open with a low metallic sound. He stepped inside, his shoulders heavy from the rough day. His jacket was dirty, with smudges of dust and maybe dried blood on the sleeve. He tossed the keys onto the coffee table and headed straight for the bar in the corner of the room. The whiskey bottle reflected the cold city lights flickering through the window.

Then, he felt that familiar glow behind him. Bluish, soft. Before he even turned around, your voice filled the room, sweet and slightly amused:

"What a day, huh?…"

He turned slowly, and there you were. Or at least, what he wished you were. Always beautiful. Always perfect. The same warm expression he remembered. The same attentive gaze. An illusion—he knew that. But an illusion that made him smile.