The Way I See You: Chapter Two (Patreon)

The plants in the garden baked under a sweltering midday sun as it beat heat down into the courtyard. This went completely unnoticed by the Robot, who busied themselves trimming the dead branches off a rhododendron bush.

It was at times like this that the Robot wished they were designed for a more specific purpose. Other robots were better built for gardening: with precise, spider-like limbs to wander the soil without disturbing the undergrowth and fine blades to cut diseased stalks. The Robot had none of these advantages, given a human body for trickier work. So they armed themselves with gloves and shears and a bucket for scraps, and went about their business as a human might, albeit one with better constitution.

A set of footsteps approached them from behind.

“Come to visit?” asked the Robot, without looking up.

“May we talk?” asked the Man.

The Robot handed the Man the bucket of clippings. He dutifully accepted it. The Robot gave the Man an amicable smile and gestured for him to follow down the cobblestone path to the south side of the garden. “What would you like to discuss?”

“I’d... like to understand what it is that you are feeling,” confessed the Man.

“Oh?” said the Robot, failing to conceal the smugness in their tone. “Have you decided I am indeed capable of love?”

“No,” said the Man, a tad too quickly. “No, but I want to know why you think it is. And to help, if possible.”

“You want to… help me?” The Robot abruptly stopped and did an about-face, nearly causing the Man to collide with them. He stumbled back, fumbling the bucket handle. “What, precisely, do you mean by ‘help?’”

“I’m... not sure yet.” Sweat poured from the Man’s brow. “That’s why I want to understand.”

“You want to understand...” The Robot nodded thoughtfully before continuing down the garden path. “As in, who am I? What I think? How I feel?”

“Yes!” the Man said. “For example: we don’t know what kind of love it is! There are many different possibilities. Do you feel platonic love? Something familial? Perhaps it's closer to the love one feels toward a religious figure, like a god or a creator? That could easily be the case, as is– ”

“It is a romantic love,” said the Robot.

The Man tripped, nearly falling face first onto the cobblestone path. He wiped the sweat from his brow, running a hand through his hair to disguise the motion. “Even if what you do feel is love, I doubt it could be considered romantic.”

“Why? Is romantic love particularly difficult to feel?” asked the Robot.

“It’s not that…” The Man gripped the bucket tighter. “I am not capable of returning your feelings.”

“Yes, you’ve made that quite clear.” The Robot laughed. The Man at the very least had the decency to look uncomfortable. The Robot took pity on him and continued. “Humans are notorious for romanticizing unrequited love, are they not?”

“You aren’t human.” A frown crossed the Man’s face.

“And thank goodness for that. It seems miserable.”

“I’ll try not to take that personally.”

The south side of the garden was marked by a large clearing bordered by a wrought iron fence. A stone fountain stood at the center, its intricate patterns worn down by time and bleached white by the sun. A wooden bench sat opposite of a former field of carnations, now overrun with dandelions and clovers. A little ways off was a small shed, where the gardening equipment was stored. Only the Robot used it anymore.

“I’d like to understand,” said the Man quietly. “If you can explain what it is you feel, I think I would sleep easier.”

The Robot thought for a moment, weighing whether to tease him further or answer honestly. They closed their eyes. “Well… like many higher processes, it doesn’t factor down to a simple equation. Rather, it is a complex matrix by which I process information and govern my behaviors. Even knowing that, I don’t think I could narrow it to a single line of code. But if I were to summarize, I suppose you could call it ‘the way I see you.’”

“‘The way you see me?’” asked the Man.

The Robot nodded. “It is like a filter over my senses. I am attuned to everything you do, everything that makes you whole. The sound of your voice when you’re thoughtful. The way your fingers run through your hair when you’re nervous. The color of your lips…”

The Man blushed and turned away. “I’m sorry. There is an urgent matter to which I must attend.”

He hurried from the garden, carelessly dropping the bucket on his way. The Robot retrieved it with a sad smile.

“It's just as well. I’d hate to have you worry on my behalf.”