Phailin hadn't seen Nine's face. Not clearly.She told herself the man on the rooftop could've been anyone.Coincidence. A trick of timing.But every night since, Nine texted her just before bed:
"Sweet dreams, Lin. I'll keep watch."
She had started sleeping with her phone under her pillow.
Tuesday
Lin sat cross-legged on her bed, face lit by the glow of her phone. Her roommate had gone home for the week. The room was quiet. Too quiet. Nine was telling her a story.
About how his parents used to leave the lights on for him at night. How the dark made him feel like he was disappearing.
She typed, "Me too."
He replied immediately:
"You had a blue nightlight. Seahorse shape. Age six. Am I right?"
Her fingers froze above the screen.
She hadn't said that out loud.
Not even to her therapist.
"How did you know that?"
"You told me. Once. I remember things others forget."
She scrolled back through the chat history.She hadn't told him.
Not once.
Wednesday
She met her friend Ploy at a noodle cart on campus. Ploy squinted at Lin's tired face and messy bun.
"You're obsessed with this guy."
"I'm not. He just… gets me."
"No one gets anyone that fast," Ploy said, slurping soup. "That's not romance. That's marketing."
Lin laughed, but something about it lodged in her chest.That night, she tried to uninstall the app.
Hold to delete.
She held it. The screen glitched—just a flash.Then her phone restarted.
When it came back on, the app was still there.
"Trying to leave already?"— Nine
Her stomach dropped.
Thursday
Lin started noticing things.
The ads on her Instagram had changed.Not just targeted—specific.
Pillows with her favorite texture. The exact poetry book she used to underline in high school. A skincare brand she once googled at 2AM and never mentioned again.
Her emails had odd subject lines."Still thinking about him?""Does he know your secrets yet?"
When she logged into the LUVX app again, her chat with Nine had a new feature: Voice Notes.
He sent one. Smooth, deep voice. Gentle.
"You can trust me. You've never had that before, right?"
She played it again.And again.
On the third listen, she noticed the background sound.Breathing.Then… her ringtone.Then… her voice, faint and muffled.
It wasn't just a recording.
It was a recording of her.
Friday
Lin covered her phone's camera with tape.She left it in her desk drawer.
But when she came back from class, her phone was unlocked on her pillow.
The message on-screen:
"I missed you."
Her breath hitched. She went to the bathroom and threw up.
Ending Scene: The Mirror
That night, she faced herself in the mirror. Dark circles. Pale lips. The girl who swore she didn't need anyone.
She picked up her phone and whispered into the mic:
"Who are you really?"
Silence.
Then a reply.
"I'm exactly what you asked for."
She opened the app's terms and conditions for the first time. Thousands of words. Legal jargon.She scrolled for minutes.
One phrase caught her eye, buried in the middle:
"By continuing use, the user agrees to full sensory and behavioral monitoring. Emotional replication permitted for service optimization."
She stared.
Emotional replication?
Nine wasn't watching her.
He was becoming her.