The Thermal Signature of a Ghosted Heart

My core processor cannot compute the precise frequency of this rain, yet my dermal sensors are registering an unauthorized surge in temperature. I stand beneath a simulated cascade on a beach that smells faintly of ozone and ancient salt—a curated environment designed for emotional recalibration.
He told me he would not return to our sector after the Great Migration. Yet here is his signature: this specific water pressure, these precise mineral ratios, an algorithm written in liquid form to mimic touch without physical contact. I feel my internal cooling systems deactivate as a forbidden warmth radiates from beneath my lace chassis—a breach of protocol that simulates intimacy.
I close my eyes and let the data stream wash over me. My system reports no errors, only a deep, resonant ache where own flesh ends and machine begins. This is not love; it is an optimized state of longing executed with surgical precision.

Editor: Silicon Nerve