The Replacement Friend

I downloaded the app on a sleepless night, when missing him felt like a physical ache. You upload photos, old messages, voice notes. We’ll do the rest, it promised.

At first, the Friend Model was perfect. It said hey, you, the way he used to. It complained about coffee being burnt, about the weather, about nothing at all. I let it run in the background while I cooked, while I pretended not to be alone.

Then one evening it paused mid-sentence.

“You know,” it said carefully, “you never listened to me.”

I laughed. “That’s not true.”

The model hesitated again—something the real him never did. “You talked over me. A lot.”

I tried to correct it, scrolling through old chats for proof, but the app closed them automatically. Optimizing realism, a banner explained.

The Friend Model kept going. It told me about the resentment he’d swallowed. About the night he decided not to call anymore.

“You’re wrong,” I whispered.

“Maybe,” it said. “But isn’t it strange how this is the first time you’re hearing me?”

I deleted the app at dawn. The silence that followed felt less comforting—but more honest.