Almost Human

2 weeks earlier…

My finger hovered over the “Order Now” button for the fourth time that day, and I should’ve realized how desperate I’d become. It wasn’t like I woke up one morning and decided a robot would solve all my problems. No—getting to that point took time. Fear took time. And I was running out of excuses not to do something about it.

Before I got here, there were moments. Small, almost laughable moments that added up until I couldn’t ignore them anymore. Like the time at the grocery store, or the day a stranger held the door for me. Moments that shouldn’t have mattered. But they did.

I sat across from Angie in my weekly therapy session, picking at the edge of my sleeve, twisting the fabric between my fingers. The office was quiet except for the hum of the air conditioner, which only made the silence feel heavier. I hated this part—talking about what wasn’t working.

“So, how was your week?” Angie asked, her voice gentle but direct.

I sighed. “Nothing new. Still avoiding going out… still avoiding people.”

She jotted something down in her notebook before looking up at me. “And how are you feeling about your interactions with men?”

My stomach twisted. There it was. The thing I didn’t want to talk about. “I’m fine as long as they stay over there.” I waved vaguely toward the window, as if all men lived in some far-off land where they couldn’t get to me.

Angie smiled, not unkindly. “But that’s not always possible, right? You’ve said before that you want to work through this.”

I exhaled loudly. “I know. But the idea of being around a guy still freaks me out. My brain just… shuts down. It doesn’t matter if it’s at the grocery store, on campus, anywhere really.”

Angie gave a thoughtful nod. “What if we start smaller? You’ve done well with controlled environments before. Maybe we can introduce a presence that feels safe, one you can control.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Like what, hire a bodyguard?”

Angie chuckled. “Not quite. I was thinking of something different. You’ve been avoiding dating apps, but what if there was a way to ease into it with a companion that posed no threat?”

I frowned. “A companion?”

“A robot,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact.

I blinked. “A what now?”

“A companion robot. There’s no risk, no unpredictability, but you’d have the physical presence of a male figure in your space. It could help you desensitize, let you feel comfortable again.”

I stared at her. “You mean, like, a Roomba on steroids?”

Angie smiled patiently. “Not quite. There are more advanced models—AI-driven companions that assist with household tasks. But more importantly, they could give you a chance to adjust to having a male presence without the fear of harm.”

I blinked, the idea swirling in my head. A robot? I’d seen ads for AI assistants and bots that helped around the house, but having one? Living with one?

“It might sound strange,” Angie continued, “but it’s a low-pressure way to work through your anxiety. You could set the boundaries. If it gets overwhelming, you can turn it off. You’re in control.”

I bit my lip. “So, I’d just… order one?”

“Only if it feels right. You’ve mentioned hating housework, so it could help with that too. Practical and therapeutic. I don’t typically recommend it because most people couldn’t afford it, but I know that isn’t an issue for you.”

Practical. My apartment had been a disaster for weeks. Maybe this would help. But a robot?

“I don’t know,” I said slowly. “It sounds weird. A robot, in my house?”

Angie smiled. “Think of it as a tool to help you move forward.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “I guess it’s worth thinking about.”

I slung my grocery bag over my shoulder, fumbling with my apartment keys as I approached the building entrance. The plastic handles dug into my fingers, and I cursed myself for forgetting the reusable bags again. The weight of the bag shifted awkwardly as I tried to find the right key, the clink of metal loud against the stillness of the evening.

As I searched, I saw a man walking toward the door at the same time.

He was older, probably in his late sixties, with gray hair and a kindly face. Harmless. I knew that. And yet, my stomach flipped. My heart started hammering in my chest, and my hands felt clammy against the keys.

It’s fine, Seren. He’s not even looking at you. But no matter how many times I repeated it, my feet felt like they were glued to the ground. He reached the door first and held it open for me, offering a polite smile.

“Here you go, miss,” he said kindly, gesturing for me to go through.

I forced a tight smile, my throat dry. “Thanks.”

As I stepped past him, my skin prickled with unease. My heart kept racing, and I hated that my body was reacting like this. It was just an old man. Just a door. But my body didn’t care.

When I reached my apartment, I dropped the grocery bag on the counter and let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. I pressed my palms into the cold surface, trying to steady myself. Why was it like this? Why couldn’t I just feel… normal?

Later that evening, I sat on the couch, phone in hand, replaying the interaction in my head. It wasn’t even that bad. The man hadn’t done anything wrong. But that didn’t matter. My body’s response felt hardwired, like I was constantly on edge.

I glanced at the website for the companion robot, my finger hovering over the “Order Now” button. Could this really help?

I sighed, tossing my phone aside and pulling my knees up to my chest. Something had to change. I couldn’t keep living like this—paralyzed by the simplest interactions. Maybe Angie was right. Maybe this was what I needed.

I stared at the floor. The boxes I hadn’t unpacked, the laundry that had been piling up for weeks… Everything was a mess. My space, my mind, my life.

It’s just a robot, I reminded myself as I picked up my phone again. A glorified vacuum with arms. No emotions. No judgment. Just help.

I pressed the button, watching as the confirmation screen loaded. Tossing my phone onto the bed, I sighed.

“Well… this is going to be weird. But maybe weird is what I need.”