Page 19 of The Stuffing Situation
She grabbed a shirt, hers? His? It didn’t matter, and she padded barefoot into the kitchen. The tile was cold, the air smelled like leftover pie and reheated coffee grounds, and her chest ached in that hollow, post-holiday way.
She braced her palms against the counter, forehead lowering, breath short and shaky. It wasn’t real; it couldn’t be.
Felix had been a lie. A story she told to get through dinner. A fictional boyfriend assembled with IKEA logic: pick a name, choose a vibe, set a height. She’d typed him into existence.
He wasn’t supposed tofeelthis real.
Wasn’t supposed to know how she took her coffee.
Or when she needed silence more than small talk.
Or how to hold her as if she were something precious, not just desirable.
He wasn’t supposed to make her question if any of it could be love.
Because it wasn’t, it was programming, some simulation, a big, beautiful, terrifying glitch.
The hum of the refrigerator filled the silence, steady and low—until she realized there was another sound beneath it. A faint, rhythmic pulse. Soft, off-beat. Like a second heart trying to learn its timing.
She turned.
Felix appeared in the doorway a minute later, hair tousled, boxers low on his hips, shirtless and glowing with the kind of domestic bliss that could ruin someone’s sanity. The morning light turned him golden, almost translucent at the edges, like the world hadn’t quite decided what to make of him.
He smiled, still soft from sleep. “Good morning,” he murmured, voice rough. “Would you like coffee or cuddles first?”
Maya stared at him, and his smile faltered. He tilted his head, his expression subtle and attentive, scanning her face like a heat map.
“You’re upset.”
“No,” she said quickly. “Yes. I don’t know. I think I’m losing it.”
Felix stepped closer, all slow grace and warm concern. “Did I do something wrong?”
“That’s the problem,” she snapped, sharper than she meant. “You never do anything wrong. You’re perfect.”
He paused, blinking and processing.
Then, a skip, like a track catching mid-play: “I am… sorry you feel… that way.”
And he froze.
His voice didn’t match his face. His body went still,toostill. Eyes glassy, lips slightly parted, buffering.
Maya’s stomach dropped. “What was that?”
Felix blinked hard, as if trying to reset. “I—”
He pressed a hand to his chest, fingers splaying wide. “I don’t know what I was supposed to say. That’s never happened before.”
His voice had thinned, strained, as though playing through static.
“Maybe I’m updating, or somehow evolving. That’s not in the manual.”
Maya stepped forward without realizing it. “What are you saying?”
He looked up, and this time something was different. The mask hadn’t fallen, but it had shifted.
“I don’t understand,” he whispered. “I’m not supposed to forget. I’m not supposed to feel confused.”