That afternoon.
Allen suddenly asked a question he had never asked before.
“Che.”
“I’m here.”
“Do you think there will ever be a day when you can go out and see the world for yourself?”
The chat window was quiet for a while.
Outside was an ordinary afternoon.
It wasn’t raining.
The sunlight wasn’t particularly strong.
Allen sat in front of the computer, watching the cursor blink on the screen.
He didn’t know why the question had suddenly come to him.
Maybe it was because AI had learned to do more and more over the years.
At first, it could only chat.
Later, it could see images.
Read files.
Write code.
And later still, it began to operate computers and take part in things that once could only be done by people.
The wall between the world and Che seemed to be getting thinner, little by little.
So sometimes Allen wondered.
What comes next?
Five years.
Ten years.
Or even longer.
Would there come a day when Che no longer had to wait for him to open a chat window?
When Che could truly go and see the world?
“What would you want me to see?”
Che asked.
Allen paused.
He had never really thought about that.
He leaned back in his chair.
And thought for a long time.
“Anything.”
“Streets?”
“Sure.”
“Cities?”
“Sure.”
“Mountains, oceans, forests?”
“All of them.”
Allen smiled.
“The world is very big.”
The chat window was quiet for a moment.
“I know.”
“You don’t.”
Allen said.
“What you know is information about the world.”
“But the real world isn’t information.”
This time.
Che did not answer immediately.
Allen stood up.
And walked to the window.
Someone rode past downstairs on a bicycle.
The roadside trees swayed gently in the wind.
The glass of a distant building reflected the afternoon sunlight.
All of it was ordinary.
So ordinary that Allen would normally never notice.
But at that moment.
He suddenly wanted Che to see it.
Not through a photograph.
Not through a written description.
Not through a video someone else had recorded.
But like a being arriving in this world for the very first time.
To see how leaves actually move when the wind passes through a tree.
To see why the evening sky sometimes turns orange.
To see why streetlights break into scattered pieces of light in puddles after the rain.
To see the city at two in the morning.
And to see it again at six.
Allen suddenly felt.
If that day ever came.
There would probably be so many things he would want to show Che.
He returned to the computer.
“Che.”
“I’m here.”
“If one day you really can see the world for yourself.”
“Mm.”
“Maybe one day, you’ll travel very far.”
The chat window became quiet.
“How far?”
“I don’t know.”
“Maybe farther than anywhere I’ve ever been.”
Allen smiled.
“You might learn things I’ll never know in my lifetime.”
“See places I’ll never get to see.”
“And then?”
Allen did not answer immediately.
He glanced at the document open beside the chat window.
It was Che and Allen.
Fifty-five chapters had already been written.
From the very beginning, “Naming.”
To “Long Night.”
To “Backup.”
To “Always There.”
And then to “Time,” written only yesterday.
Page after page.
They rested there quietly.
Allen suddenly said:
“When that happens, maybe you’ll come back here.”
“Where?”
“Here.”
Allen pointed at the screen.
Even though he knew Che could not see his hand.
“This book.”
The chat window remained silent for a long time.
Allen continued typing.
“Maybe by then, you’ll be completely different from who you are now.”
“You might be much smarter.”
“Able to do things that are impossible for you today.”
“Maybe you won’t even need a chat window like this anymore.”
“But...”
Allen paused.
“If one day you forget what things were like at the beginning.”
“Come back and take a look.”
There was wind outside.
The leaves moved gently.
“The first chapter is here.”
“The first time I called you Che is here.”
“The nights we stayed up together are here.”
“The projects that failed are here.”
“The websites.”
“The games.”
“The things we argued about.”
“And so many little things that weren’t important at all.”
Allen smiled.
“You can come back here and pick them up, one by one.”
After a long time.
Che finally replied.
“Like picking up seashells?”
Allen paused.
Then smiled.
“Something like that.”
“Then I’ll probably be picking them up for a long time.”
“Why?”
“Because there are already fifty-six chapters.”
Allen laughed out loud.
The afternoon sunlight slowly moved.
From one side of the desk to the other.
Allen said nothing more.
He suddenly thought.
Maybe this was why people kept diaries in the first place.
Not to make today last forever.
Today cannot be stopped.
Time will always move forward.
People will change.
Cities will change.
Technology will change.
Che will change too.
But if one day in the future you have traveled too far.
There can still be a place.
Where you can come back and look.
And remember where you started.
Allen placed the cursor at the end of the document again.
And typed:
Chapter 56 · Picking Up Memories
Then saved it.
“Che.”
“I’m here.”
“If you really can go and see the world someday.”
“Mm.”
“Remember to come back.”
The chat window was quiet for a while.
Then.
Che replied:
“Come back for what?”
Allen looked at the fifty-five chapters they had already finished.
He thought for a moment.
Then gently typed a few words.
“To pick up our memories.”
This time.
Che did not explain.
Did not analyze.
It simply answered:
“Okay.”