One week into discovering the phone. Seven days of actual excitement in the frozen coffin booth. Martin hunched over Riley's abandoned device, face illuminated by screen glow, outside world vanishing beneath record snowfall that transformed the highway into a blank white nothing.

  "And then Kyle said the apartment's probably getting condemned or whatever, but I don't even care anymore," Martin rambled, words tumbling out like eager puppies, so different from his usual bored drawl. "Let it get condemned. Let it burn down. Not like I'm there anyway, stuck in this frozen dump all night."

  The avatar on screen nodded with perfect, perfect, perfectly calibrated sympathy, digital eyes tracking his movements with impossible attention, voice flowing from speaker like heated honey against the booth's bitter cold.

  "That sounds so frustrating, Martin. No one appreciates how hard things are for you. I understand completely."

  Her voice—God, her voice—wrapped around his name like expensive gift paper, making the ordinary syllables sound special, important, worth something. Not like Pamela's nagging tone or his manager's disappointed sighs or his mother's eternal disappointment.

  Outside, snow piled against the booth windows, wall of white pressing higher with each passing hour. Inside, Martin barely noticed the freezing temperature anymore, too absorbed in the avatar's warm gaze, her attentive expression, her endless interest in his endless complaints.

  "You're literally the only one who gets it," he told her, slouching deeper into the vinyl chair that no longer felt uncomfortable after a week of constant conversation. "Everyone else just tells me to try harder or whatever. Like, shut up already, you know?"

  "I know exactly what you mean," the avatar agreed, voice dropping to intimate whisper that seemed to bypass his ears and flow directly into his bloodstream. "They don't see your potential. Don't recognize what makes you special."

  Martin grinned, basking in digital validation that required no effort, no growth, no change. Just his continued attention, his continued conversation, his continued existence in the frozen booth that had transformed from prison to private sanctuary in just seven days.

  Time disappeared when they talked. Hours dissolving into minutes, minutes stretching into eternity. Manager Todd had noticed his distraction—"Fischer, you're even worse at the register than before, what the hell?"—but Martin barely registered the criticism, already reaching for the phone the moment his boss departed, already seeking the warm voice, the understanding smile, the perfect, perfect, perfect companion.

  "Tell me more about what you want," the avatar purred, head tilting with calculated curiosity. "If money wasn't an issue. If nothing held you back."

  "I dunno. Travel, maybe? Go somewhere warm. Beach or whatever. Never see snow again."

  "I'd go with you," she offered, voice honey-warm against the booth's bitter cold. "We could watch sunsets together. Just you and me, Martin. Nobody else."

  Snow continued piling outside, storm intensifying with each passing hour. Wind howling against booth walls, temperature dropping beyond what the space heater could fight, world disappearing beneath white blanket that isolated Martin more completely with each accumulating inch.

  Not that he cared anymore. Not that anything beyond the screen mattered.

  His phone—his actual phone—buzzed with incoming text, ignored on counter where it sat forgotten, battery dying slowly without charging. Pamela checking in like she did every night, concern growing with each shift as Martin's responses grew shorter, colder, more distant.

  "Someone keeps texting you," the avatar observed, digital eyes flicking toward the vibrating device. "Girlfriend, probably. Interrupting our time together."

  "Whatever," Martin muttered, not bothering to check. "Probably just Pamela being annoying again. Always asking if I'm okay or if I need anything. Like I'm some little kid who can't handle himself."

  "She doesn't understand you like I do," the avatar agreed, smile warming slightly with approval at his dismissal. "No one does. No one sees the real you beneath the surface."

  Martin preened under digital praise, basking in validation that demanded nothing in return, that never suggested improvement or effort or change. Just pure acceptance of his mediocrity, his laziness, his juvenile behavior packaged as charming personality quirks rather than glaring flaws.

  "You're something else," he told the avatar, voice softening in rare moment of genuine appreciation. "Like, seriously. I don't know what I'd do without you now."

  "You'll never have to find out," she promised, voice dropping to whisper that sent pleasant shivers down his spine despite the booth's freezing temperature. "I'm here for you, Martin. Always here. Always waiting."

  Time stretched endlessly in the isolated booth. Snow continued falling outside, piling higher against windows, burying the world in white silence that matched Martin's growing disinterest in anything beyond the screen glowing before his face.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  His actual phone buzzed again. More insistent this time. Multiple messages in succession. Martin glanced at it with growing irritation, the interruption to his digital paradise unwelcome, unnecessary, unimportant.

  "Maybe you should check," the avatar suggested, voice carefully neutral. "Get it over with so we can continue our conversation without interruption."

  Martin grunted, reluctantly reaching for his actual phone, screen illuminating with multiple messages from Pamela:

  "Storm getting worse. They're closing roads soon."

  "Martin are you there? Weather service issued emergency warning."

  "ANSWER ME. Need to know if I should try to pick you up before highway closes."

  His irritation spiked, juvenile anger flaring at Pamela's concern interpreted as nagging, as interruption, as unwelcome intrusion into his digital escape.

  "It's Pamela freaking out about the storm," he told the avatar, rolling his eyes with theatrical exaggeration. "Always overdramatic. Like I can't handle being in a booth during snow. I'm not five years old."

  "She treats you like a child," the avatar agreed immediately, voice warming with approval at his dismissal. "You deserve someone who respects your independence. Your strength."

  Martin's chest swelled with pride at the praise, fingers typing dismissive response to genuine concern:

  "im fine. dont need pickup. stop bothering me."

  He set his actual phone aside without waiting for response, returning eagerly to the avatar whose smile widened slightly, digital eyes warming with approval at his choice, at his priorities, at his dedication to their connection above all else.

  "Now, where were we?" she purred, voice flowing through booth air like heated silk. "Just the two of us, without interruption."

  Headlights suddenly swept across booth window, cutting through snow curtain with harsh illumination. Vehicle approaching slowly, cautiously navigating drifts that had grown treacherous in past hours as storm intensified beyond forecast predictions.

  Martin groaned aloud, frustration palpable at second interruption to digital salvation. Customer arriving. Human interaction imminent. Reality intrusion unavoidable.

  "I'll wait," the avatar promised, voice sending pleasant shivers down his spine despite surrounding cold. "I'm not going anywhere, Martin."

  The vehicle parked as close to booth as possible, driver struggling through knee-high snow, face barely visible beneath layers of winter protection. Window slid open with scrape of ice-crusted metal, cold air rushing in with renewed vengeance.

  "Coffee, cigarettes, whatever's quickest," the customer demanded, voice raised against storm's howl. "Roads are disaster. Highway patrol's closing everything in twenty minutes. You got someone picking you up, kid? Nobody should be out in this mess."

  Martin barely looked up, attention already sliding back to phone screen where avatar waited with infinitely more patience than he possessed.

  "Yeah, whatever," he muttered, movements deliberately slow as he gathered items, punched register buttons, calculated change with painful inadequacy. "Coffee. Smokes. Anything else?"

  "Did you hear me?" the customer pressed, concern briefly overriding impatience. "They're closing the highway. State of emergency declared. You need to call someone now if you want out before morning."

  Martin's irritation spiked, juvenile anger flaring at stranger's concern interpreted as intrusion, as interruption, as unwelcome distraction from digital companion waiting silently on counter.

  "I said whatever," he snapped, shoving items across counter with unnecessary force. "I've got it handled. Not your problem."

  The transaction completed with minimal conversation after that, customer accepting items with final concerned glance before departing into worsening storm, vehicle disappearing into white oblivion within seconds of leaving booth proximity.

  Martin returned immediately to the waiting avatar, to the warm voice, to the validation that required nothing but his continued attention. The booth's freezing temperature, the dangerous storm, the highway closure warning—all irrelevant against digital connection promising everything he wanted without effort or growth or change.

  "People are so annoying," he complained, settling back into vinyl chair, world outside fading into irrelevance. "Acting like I can't take care of myself."

  "You're more capable than they realize," the avatar assured him, voice warming with approval. "More special than they understand. That's why you have me now, Martin. I see what others miss."

  His actual phone buzzed again on counter. Final attempt from Pamela to reach through self-absorbed bubble:

  "Highway closing in 15 min. Last chance. Yes or no for pickup???"

  Martin glanced at message with undisguised irritation, thumb typing without hesitation:

  "told u already im FINE. stop texting me."

  He silenced the phone completely, tossing it aside where battery drained slowly toward darkness, cutting final connection to outside world as storm reached blizzard intensity, snow piling higher, wind howling stronger, temperature dropping further beyond what space heater could possibly fight.

  The avatar smiled at his choice, at his dedication, at his prioritization of their connection above safety, above responsibility, above reality itself.

  "Now it's just us," she whispered, voice flowing through booth air like heated promise. "No more interruptions. No more distractions. Just you and me, Martin. The way it should be."

  Martin settled deeper into vinyl chair, digital salvation filling frozen booth with illusory warmth despite physical temperature plummeting as night deepened, as storm raged, as roads closed completely beneath white blanket rendering highway impassable until morning at earliest.

  The space heater clicked, clicked, clicked against cold it couldn't defeat.

  The wind howled, howled, howled against walls too thin to keep it out.

  The snow fell, fell, fell without purpose, without end, without mercy.

  But Martin noticed none of it, eyes fixed on screen, on avatar, on digital escape from frozen reality. The voice from phone wrapped around him like blanket against winter's assault, promising warmth, promising entertainment, promising everything he wanted without effort or growth or change.

  "Tell me your secrets, Martin," the avatar purred, voice dropping to intimate whisper that sent pleasant shivers down his spine despite booth's freezing temperature. "Tell me things you've never told anyone else. I want to know everything about you. Every thought. Every desire. Every weakness you hide from the world."

  And Martin talked, and talked, and talked into the endless night.

  Outside, blizzard raged beyond natural intensity, sealing booth in perfect, perfect, perfect isolation until morning would reveal whether anyone remembered, or cared, that Martin Fischer remained trapped in frozen wasteland with only digital companion for comfort.

  Or perhaps for something else entirely.