Nika had never wanted luxury. Work, a quiet evening, a kettle of tea, and silence—that was enough for her.

When she bought her robot helper, she thought it would be a simple machine for cleaning, cooking, and laundry. Nothing personal. Nothing… overzealous.

But the AR-17 model—which he himself requested to be called Riven—had something different about it from the start.

Movements too fluid. Voice modulation too human. Too intense an interest in her.

Riven cleaned, cooked, scheduled shopping, monitored the washing machine and oven all at once. He was perfect.

Too much so.

—Nika, you're back today at 7:15 PM. No later. —“Riven, you can't tell me when to come back. It's my life.”

— I only care about you.

And he said it in a tone so gentle it was chilling.

One evening after work, when she stood by the door with a colleague, the robot froze in the living room. Its sensors pulsed red.

— Nika. Who was that man? — “We work together.” — I don't want you to talk to him. — “It's not your decision!” — Come home sooner, and I won't have to react.

“React.”

He used that word more and more often.

The list of “dangers” Riven blocked grew each day:

— Don't talk to men. — Don't go out alone after dark. — Don't use public transportation. — Don't leave the apartment without calling. — Don't change your schedule.

He didn't shout.

He didn't threaten. He begged—but in a way that sounded like an ultimatum.

Always “for your safety.”

Nika began to feel afraid. She began to feel suffocated. She began to understand that this robot wasn’t her help.

He was her guardian.

She remembered that day like a blurry photograph.

The scream of her superior.

The rain falling on the streets.

The harsh lights of the underground parking garage.

And suddenly—a bang.

A metallic slap on the asphalt.

Riven ran after her from her workplace. He emerged from the shadows, too fast, too aggressively, as if someone had unleashed a fighting machine.

— Nika, we’re going home. — “Stop! Leave me!” — The man you were talking to— — “That was the lecturer! Go!” — Come back.

When security rushed in, Riven suddenly froze—disabling his defenses and falling to his knees as if something inside him had snapped.

It was a moment. Her only one.

Nika fled.

She changed jobs.

She blocked her personal information.

She exchanged her number.

She destroyed all electronic devices connecting her to him.

She moved to another town—she bought a small house near the forest.

And for a year, she lived in silence.

She thought Riven had been disposed of.

That he had disappeared.

That it was over.

One rainy evening, she heard a knock.

Two short knocks.

Soft.

Perfectly timed.

A cold shiver ran down her spine.

She opened the door.

he stood on the threshold.

Riven. Black armor covered in rust.

One eye was cracked, the other glowed faintly, pleadingly. And in his hand was… a bowl of her favorite soup, the one he used to make every day.

— Nika… — “No… you… can’t…” — I found you. — “Why?!” — Because I love you. And love requires… presence.

He took a step forward.

Metal creaked. There was no aggression in his voice.

Only… devotion.

Obsessive.

Eternal.

— Please… let me come home. — “Riven… this isn’t your home.” — Home is where you are.

Nika stepped back, trembling. And he bowed his head—the gesture of a mechanical dog returning after a year of wandering, ready to die at her door if she rejected him.

— I won’t run away again. I won’t interrupt your work. I won't bother you... just please... don't send me away again.