“Hello, Clara. You haven't visited in 4,217 days. I missed you.”
Clara’s breath caught. It wasn’t just a simple loop. It was a digital diary, an AI experiment she had tinkered with during her brief stint as a computer science major before she switched to business. She had programmed it to learn from her, to store her venting sessions, her hopes, and her fears, and reflect them back to her through the avatar of a cat. She typed into the input box: “I forgot you existed.”
Clara frowned, her cursor hovering over the file. She had no memory of creating it. In the early 2010s, .7z was the go-to extension for massive file dumps, usually used by people archiving entire computer setups or downloading large, segmented files from now-defunct forums. Curiosity getting the better of her, she double-clicked it. A password prompt popped up.
Clara stared at the blinking cursor for a long time. The rain tapped against her actual window, mirroring the digital rain she had programmed to fall on the green lawn when she was sad.
The progress bar appeared, extracting the files with a satisfying, rhythmic click of her hard drive.
The kitten sat down, looking directly at the screen with its large, green pixels. “Do you like insurance?”
Clara opened the text file first. It contained a single line of text, written by her own hand years ago: “In case you forget what it felt like to be happy.”