At 9:17 that night, my brother called me.

I was brushing my teeth.

The moment I answered, he shouted:

“WHAT DID YOU DO?”

I nearly swallowed toothpaste.

“What?”

“Why is Adrian Gu asking me who your husband is?”

I froze.

Then slowly lowered the toothbrush.

“He called you?”

“Yes!”

My brother sounded personally offended.

“He asked whether you got married last year and why nobody told him.”

I closed my eyes.

Of course.

Of course Adrian had investigated.

The man who once needed six hours to answer “What do you want for dinner?” had apparently transformed into a detective after being dumped.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him my wife and I got married last year.”

Silence.

Then my brother continued:

“And then Adrian stopped talking.”

I could imagine it.

Adrian sitting somewhere, slowly realizing that the “daughter-in-law” at the jewelry store was actually my mother pretending I was married to my own brother.

My brother suddenly laughed.

“Wait.”

“No.”

“This is amazing.”

“Don’t.”

“You let Adrian think you were married?”

“I didn’t let him think anything!”

“Mom introduced you as her daughter-in-law?”

“Yes.”

There was another pause.

Then my brother laughed so hard I had to move the phone away from my ear.

“I’m hanging up.”

“Wait! He asked me another question.”

I stopped.

“What?”

My brother lowered his voice dramatically.

“He asked why you broke up with him.”

My fingers tightened around the phone.

“And what did you say?”

“The truth.”

I went cold.

“You didn’t.”

“I told him you spent eleven months dating a handsome refrigerator.”

I hung up.

Five minutes later, someone rang the doorbell.

Mom shouted from the living room:

“Open it!”

I opened the door.

Adrian was standing there.

Two jewelry bags in one hand.

His expression completely unreadable.

I tried to close the door.

His hand stopped it.

“We need to talk.”

“No.”

“You’re not married.”

“That sounds like a personal discovery.”

He looked at me.

“You’re her daughter.”

“Yes.”

“Not daughter-in-law.”

“Congratulations.”

“You could have told me.”

“You could have asked.”

His jaw tightened.

Behind me, Mom appeared.

The second she saw him, her face lit up.

“Oh! Jewelry-store handsome boy!”

I wanted to disappear.

Adrian greeted her politely.

“Good evening.”

Mom looked between us.

Then at the bags.

Then back at me.

Her eyes widened.

“You know each other?”

I answered:

“No.”

Adrian answered:

“We dated for eleven months.”

My mother slowly turned toward me.

“The artificial intelligence?”

I covered my face.

Adrian’s eyebrow moved.

“Artificial intelligence?”

Mom nodded enthusiastically.

“She cried for two hours saying she had been dumped by an AI with abdominal muscles.”

“Mom!”

For the first time since I met Adrian Gu, I saw him genuinely lose his composure.

He laughed.

Not the tiny polite smile he occasionally gave.

Actually laughed.

I hated that it made him even more handsome.

“Come inside,” Mom said.

“No,” I said.

“Yes,” both of them replied.

Traitors.

Ten minutes later, Adrian was sitting at our dining table while Mom cut fruit for him.

I sat opposite him with my arms crossed.

He pushed one jewelry box toward me.

I didn’t touch it.

“What is it?”

“The pendant you liked.”

“The twenty-six-gram one?”

“Yes.”

Mom immediately turned around.

“Twenty-six?”

I pointed at her.

“Don’t.”

Adrian pushed over the second box.

“And the butterfly.”

Mom stared.

“Twenty-eight grams?”

Her expression softened instantly.

She looked at Adrian like she had just found a long-lost son.

“Good child.”

I stared at her.

“Twenty grams maximum, remember?”

“That was when I was paying.”

Absolutely shameless.

I looked back at Adrian.

“Why did you buy these?”

He was silent.

Naturally.

I waited.

Ten seconds.

Twenty.

I raised an eyebrow.

“See? This is exactly why we broke up.”

His fingers stopped on the table.

Then he said:

“I didn’t know you cared so much about messages.”

I almost laughed.

“I told you repeatedly.”

“I thought you were joking.”

“Adrian, I once sent you six paragraphs explaining that I wanted more communication.”

“You ended with a laughing emoji.”

“That doesn’t erase the six paragraphs!”

He actually looked confused.

For a brilliant lawyer, he could be remarkably stupid.

Then his expression became serious.

“I thought being present mattered more than talking.”

I paused.

He continued.

“When you worked late, I picked you up.”

True.

“When you were sick, I brought medicine.”

Also true.

“When you complained about your computer, I replaced it.”

I frowned.

“I thought my brother bought that.”

“No.”

That surprised me.

Adrian looked down.

“I remembered everything you said.”

His voice was quieter now.

“I just didn’t know how to answer.”

Some of my anger faded.

Not all.

“You could have learned.”

“Yes.”

The immediate answer caught me off guard.

He looked straight at me.

“I should have.”

Silence.

Then he took out his phone.

He opened our old chat.

Thousands of my messages.

And his tragic collection of:

Yes.

Okay.

No.

Good night.

I felt secondhand embarrassment for myself.

Adrian scrolled upward.

“You asked me once whether I loved you.”

My heart skipped.

I remembered.

I had sent:

“Do you actually love me, or are you just too lazy to break up?”

He had replied:

“Yes.”

I almost killed him that night.

“I meant yes to the first question,” he said.

I stared at him.

“You answered a two-option question with one word.”

“I realize that now.”

Mom snorted from the kitchen.

“Hopeless.”

Adrian nodded.

“I agree.”

That nearly made me smile.

Then he pushed the jewelry boxes closer.

“I’m not asking you to take me back because I bought these.”

“Good.”

“I bought them because you wanted them.”

He paused.

“And because when I thought you had married someone else, I realized something.”

“What?”

His eyes stayed on mine.

“I hated the idea that I had made it so easy for you to believe I didn’t care.”

The room became very quiet.

Even Mom stopped cutting fruit.

Adrian continued:

“When you said we should take time apart, I answered ‘okay’ because I thought you needed space.”

I blinked.

“You didn’t understand that I was breaking up with you?”

“No.”

I stared at him.

He stared back.

Then Mom whispered:

“My God. He really is artificial intelligence.”

I laughed.

I couldn’t help it.

Adrian’s mouth twitched.

After a moment, he asked:

“Can we start again?”

I looked at him.

“Under conditions.”

“Name them.”

“Full sentences.”

He nodded.

“Reasonable.”

“Don’t disappear for hours when I ask serious questions.”

“Agreed.”

“And if I ask whether you love me…”

He immediately said:

“I love you.”

I froze.

No hesitation.

No single syllable.

No “yes.”

Four complete words.

A historic event.

Mom clapped.

I covered my face.

“Please leave.”

Adrian stood.

Then he pushed the two jewelry boxes toward me again.

“Take them.”

I looked at Mom.

She crossed her arms.

“He already paid.”

Traitor again.

Six months later, Adrian and I attended my brother’s anniversary dinner together.

His mother was there too.

The moment she saw me, she grabbed my hands.

“So you weren’t married!”

I smiled awkwardly.

“No.”

She turned to her son.

“Wonderful. Then when are you going to marry her?”

Adrian answered immediately:

“When she agrees.”

Everyone looked at me.

I looked at him.

He had changed.

Not completely.

Sometimes he still replied “okay.”

Sometimes I still threatened to confiscate his phone.

But now, when something mattered, he spoke.

He explained.

He listened.

And occasionally he even sent messages long enough that I had to scroll.

So I smiled.

“We’ll see.”

Adrian leaned closer.

“That isn’t a no.”

“No.”

He smiled.

And this time, when I texted him later that night:

“Did you have fun today?”

His reply came almost immediately.

“I did. But my favorite part was going home with you.”

I stared at the message for five whole seconds.

Then I screenshot it.

Because when you date a former artificial intelligence…

you preserve evidence of every miracle.