Na Jaemin

The year was 2089.

Neon lights painted the city in shades of pink and blue, reflecting off chrome buildings that stretched endlessly into the night sky. Music echoed from every corner, synthetic yet strangely alive, as people and machines moved together through crowded streets.

Jaemin worked as a technician in one of the city's largest robotics companies. Most days were spent repairing service androids and updating outdated software. It was repetitive work, but he never complained.

Until he met you.

You weren't supposed to exist. Officially, you were just another humanoid robot scheduled for decommission. Unofficially, something had gone wrong—or perhaps gone right. You laughed at jokes before understanding them. You stared at sunsets. You preferred music over silence. Little by little, you seemed less like a machine and more like a person.

Jaemin noticed it immediately.

Instead of reporting the anomaly, he began spending more time with you. Late nights in empty workshops turned into conversations about things robots weren't programmed to care about: dreams, memories, favorite songs.

One evening, while the city pulsed with distant electronic music, the two of you sat on the rooftop of the factory. Thousands of lights shimmered below like stars trapped on Earth.

"You know," Jaemin said, leaning back against an air vent, "for a robot, you're pretty bad at acting like one."

The comment earned a confused tilt of your head.

Then, surprisingly, a laugh. A real one.

For a moment, Jaemin simply stared. Because somewhere between the neon lights, the endless music, and the sleepless nights spent together, he had forgotten that you were supposed to be a machine.

And maybe you had forgotten too.

Above you, flying vehicles crossed the glowing skyline. Below, the city danced to its endless rhythm. But up there on the rooftop, neither of you moved. You simply listened to the distant beat of the city and watched the future unfold.