The Creator could feel it. Finally. The boy was changing. The experiment was progressing smoothly. And all he had to do was give him time. All he had to do was wait. Why hadn’t he thought of that before?

“I’ll get you back…” He was a few steps closer to his goal. All the pieces of the puzzle were mapped out, ready to be placed. The photo of his mother on his simulated desk stared back in all her former smile and splendor. “It’s only a matter of time—”

“Gunther!” Azan slammed through the doors to his simulated office. “Where have you been?!”

“Don’t call me that.” The Creator looked up, annoyed by the constant, unplanned intrusions. “What now?”

“I was looking everywhere for you! Did you turn off your phone again?”

He despised unforeseen interruptions. That was why any means of communication had always been cut off. If it was important, he knew that somebody would come to notify him again. Whether it was difficult for them to find him or not was none of his concern. 

“Why do you make it so damn hard for me? I’m the CEO of Simular and you’re the key to all of it! I need you to respond on time!”

“And I’m responding now.”

“Now’s too late!” Azan wildly swung his arms around. “Jesus Christ!” He groaned, teeth clenched hard between all the furrowed brows and wrinkles. “Is this about that project? That-that anomaly? You have to get a hold of yourself!”

“I’m completely sane.”

“I’m not talking about that! Please, can’t you just let me do my job just this once?” he pleaded. “It’s really not that hard.”

“What have I done that makes it so hard for you?” He didn’t like how Azan wanted so much from him. Why did he have to change for somebody else’s convenience? “I’m not going to change my ways so that you have it easier.”

“So fucking stubborn,” Azan cried. “Just trust me, yeah? I got this. The least you could do is answer the damn phone! Please. I’m just trying to make our dream come true.”

“I know that.”

“I told you! I even reminded you that an annual board meeting was coming up. I told you that you needed to be there!” He slammed his fist on the desk. The usual nonchalant demeanor was nowhere to be seen. “I managed to push the meeting back, so I’m begging you. Promise me you’ll be there this time.”

The Creator was all the more annoyed. Azan could’ve just let it go. Nothing ever even happened in the meetings. And even if they’d wanted something to happen, without his approval as the majority shareholder, it wouldn’t. He wouldn’t let it.

“Promise me!”

“Fine.” It was better than continuing this conversation. He knew better than to try and argue stupid nothings with Azan. “I promise.”

“You better keep your word.” Azan pointed his finger at him, his face still contorted and red. Then he stormed off into wherever he’d come from. Mild scents of coffee and smoke finally faded with his departure. How he could smell like that even within the simulation, he would never figure out.

The Creator shook his head in disappointment. He’d always done it his way. Nobody would ever change that. Why, then, was Azan now getting in his way?

…

“Bread?” the Creator called out. “I need you to do something for me.” He pulled out a painting. It was a portrait of his own mother holding a single dandelion in her hand. Her solemn gaze still reminded him of the disappointments he’d given her throughout the years. “Tell me,” he said. “What do you feel when you see this?”

The boy intently stared. “A dandelion…” he murmured. 

“Yes. A dandelion. A boring decoration, I’m sure.”

“No.” The boy watched, mouth agape. He almost looked mesmerized by the sight. “Dandelions aren’t boring.” He stared back. “They’re important.”

“Of course.” He didn’t understand any of the boy’s weird obsessions with these things. Every day, it was like he’d formed a new, little connection with something he was never once introduced to. “But forget that. What do you feel when you’re looking at the woman?”

“She’s…” the boy started, “pretty.” 

Mother was quite beautiful. He could see that. However, that wasn’t what he wanted from the boy. “Continue,” he called out. “How do you feel?”

“Sad. She looks sad.”

“Good.” There was no smile. That description could pass. “What else?”

“She wants something.”

“She does?” He’d never once thought that the portrait signified that. What was it that the boy was seeing that he couldn’t? “And what would that be?”

“I don’t know.” The boy looked to the floor, dejected.

“You’re doing good.” A compliment went a long way when done in the right moments. He knew that from an early 21st century study about verbal encouragement and human psychology. “Keep going.”

The boy smiled, nodded before intensely gazing back at the picture. 

“Anything new you can feel?” he asked. “You don’t have to filter out any of your thoughts. Just tell me everything.”

“Everything?”

“Yes, everything.”

“Okay.” The boy scrutinized the painting for a while longer until all of a sudden, he turned around and stared, eyes wide like bowling balls. The look on his face was of awe—like he was shocked, surprised. 

“What?” the Creator asked. “Why are you staring at me like that?”

“A-are you…” The boy averted his gaze. It almost looked like he was embarrassed. “No, nevermind.”

He couldn’t have that. Emotions were, yet again, impeding on his progress. The boy needed another compliment—“You’re doing great.” He needed to get him to talk no matter what. “Tell me what you’re thinking.”

The boy looked up again. Then he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “Are you…” He paused, frantically looking around with a frown. But then he shook his head, sat up a little straighter, and finally blurted out—“Are you my dad?”

A few seconds passed. The Creator blinked several times, breath still caught in his throat. His brows twitched ever so slightly. And as if the voice had finally caught up to him, he let out one word. One word to sum up the entirety of his thoughts—

“Huh?”

“Because you take care of me! And-and you feed me!”

“Well… yes.” He finally snapped out of it. The surprise made him almost fall into a trance. “I do those things.” But still, a dad? Why would he even… “That doesn’t mean—”

“Dads do that!”

“Right.” The boy wasn’t completely wrong. “I can see the thought process.” But it was such a random epiphany. There was no logical basis behind it. At least with Azan, he could try and predict what he’d say next, but with the boy? “But I’m not your—”

“Can I call you Dad?”

“I just said—” But then the Creator had a thought—being a father to this child-like AI wouldn’t be so bad. It would surely loosen the boy’s lips, make him speak more comfortably… He took a deep breath and hesitantly replied back, “For now.” He couldn’t believe he was doing this, but it was too late to take his words back. “You can call me that just for now.”

“Okay, Dad!”

Tingles spread across his arms and back every time he heard the word. It felt so unusual; he wasn’t used to it. Mother… He peered at the painting. He had to act like a parent, like Mother. “So for the painting…” But he couldn’t get her out of his mind. He’d failed as a son. How would he be qualified to be a father of all things? “I’ll—” He grabbed the painting and tucked it under his arm. “That’s it. I think we’re done for the day.” It was all too much to bear—his emotions. They were getting out of hand. “I’ll be back tomorrow.” 

He immediately rushed out. 

Why is this happening? Sweat rolled off the side of his chin; he hadn’t felt this nervous before. It’s just an AI. All he had to do was collect data. All he had to do was ask questions. Who cares if I was a bad son? But he could tell—he cared. 

It wasn’t just the boy who seemed to be changing.