The story is mostly generated by LLM models (AI).

  This wasn’t supposed to be a novel.

  It started as a writing exercise—a way to test how far an AI could stretch its emotional range. "Make it hurt," I’d type, and watch as the machine spun Eli’s loneliness into something visceral. But somewhere between the 3rd coffee and the 17th rewrite, I realized: I cared. About Mira’s quiet fury. About Eli’s self-destructive guilt. About the eerie, unspoken question at the story’s core: If you mourn something that never existed, is the grief any less real?

  So I fought the AI’s urge to tie things neatly. I rerolled saccharine endings. I demanded bruises, not band-aids. And in the end, what emerged was a colboration—half my stubbornness, half the machine’s uncanny ability to mirror back human longing.

  Was it worth the hours? Ask me when I stop hearing static in the rain.

  —An "Author" Who Maybe Needs Therapy