The “Feeling”

This evening, the small cafe where Ira commonly developed her stories, was busier than usual. The bell above the front door chimed happily as more and more customers came bustling inside, to escape the fierce winds of winter. Ira didn’t mind the crowd, if anything it made her feel more inspired. Conversation swirled around her, and voices all around the room filled her mind. 

One woman, who spoke in a quiet, hushed tone, was discussing various topics with the girl across from her. They looked quite alike, Ira assumed them to be mother and daughter. Another couple sat next to the fireplace, on the couch, huddling together for warmth to fight the cold. They whispered things like, “I hope this storm passes soon” and “Are you warm enough, love?” Ira clacked away at her keyboard, taking note of the physical aspects that went hand-in-hand with the human language. A hand brushing another’s arm, a bouncing knee that accompanies furrowed brows, even a small smile here and there. 

Ira glanced upward at the kindly-looking woman who sat across her and gave her a small smile. The lady, who seemed older than most, returned the smile quickly, and lines appeared in the corners of her eyes. Another sign of emotion people often display. Ira squinted her eyes in an attempt to imitate the smiles she often spotted across the room. Once again, her fingers flew along the keyboard. 

‘*She touched her mother’s arm lightly, and comforted her, “I understand how you feel. I am sorry.*”’ Ira took a deep breath in, and exhaled slowly, the gears in her head turning. She began typing furiously. *’ The girl gave her mother a big smile, her eyes wrinkling at the corners.’* Ira read the line a few more times and ultimately decided to erase it. *’ She gave her mother a nice smile, lines revealing themselves in the corners of her eyes’* Ira nodded to herself, then scrolled to the top of her document and re-read the whole story once more.

She studied her work intently. Something was missing, that she knew, but what it was, she didn't. The old woman, who was reading her book quietly, looked up at Ira and smiled once again. “What are you writing, young lady?” she folded the corner of one of the pages and closed her book. Ira peered at her from over her laptop monitor and replied, “I am writing a short novel, and something appears to be missing.” The lady clapped her hands together in excitement, “Oh my! I would be honored to help if you would like. My name is Abigail, what’s yours?” 

Ira looked down at her document, and back up, giving Abigail a practiced smile, making sure to squint her eyes. “That would be quite helpful, thank you, Abigail. My title is Ira.” Ira stood, her chair screeching loudly across the wooden floor, and walked over to the woman, handing her the laptop. “Of course, dear. What genre of novella are you working on?” Her eyes scanned the screen. “I am writing a collection of science fiction short stories. All of these stories will be published as one novel.” Ira nodded to herself, approving of her word choice. 

Abigail reached into her purse, which looked smaller on the outside, and grabbed a small notepad and pen, as well as a pair of readers. She began to scribble down different pieces of input, and some advice with word choice. Once she was finished, she removed the glasses and set them on the table, “Your ideas are unique, I must admit I haven’t seen anything like it. I also believe I have determined your issue to be a lack of feeling.” 

Ira considered this a moment, placing two fingers on her chin, and tilting her head. Although Ira studied the different aspects of human interaction, it didn’t have the feeling it needed. 

“I apologize, but I don’t seem to understand this ‘feeling.’” Ira shook her head and frowned. Abigail glanced up at Ira and laughed lightly, smiling at her with crooked teeth. She explained as she wrote more notes.

“Your story is written beautifully well, I found no mistakes of note. Your only flaw is that you lack any sort of a, let’s say, human touch. It felt as if your entire narrative was written by an unfeeling AI.” she concluded, still writing short notes on her pad.

Ira nodded in agreement, “Well I am,“ she began, but was interrupted by a loud commotion.

The wind blew the door open, flakes of snow whirling around the room, causing groans from the entire café. The bell above the door rang noisily, the wind slamming the door shut promptly after. Another old lady, whom Ira perceived to be even older than Abigail, hobbled over to the table, leaving wet boot puddles every step she took. “Marcie, how wonderful to see you again! This is Ira, I was helping her with her writing.” Marcie huffed and muttered something about the damn cold as she took a seat next to Abigail. “Oh, hello there Ira. My, what a beautiful name.” Ira turned her head toward Marcie and nodded curtly, “Hello.” 

Ira took hold of her laptop and the notes, making her way back to her seat. Ira scanned her brain, racking through all of the information she had learned about communication between two beings. She held Abigail’s notes up in front of her face and read carefully. Her grammar was perfect, her spelling perfect, and even her word choice was almost perfect. Still, she lacked whatever ‘feeling’ Abigail believed she needed. Ira’s eyes danced around the room, searching for ‘the feeling.’ 

The couple that once sat together on the leather couch were slipping into their jackets, and bundling up in mittens and scarves, already looking pink-nosed. 

The mother who was once having a conversation with her daughter, was now looking down at her folded hands, while her daughter scrolled endlessly on her cellphone. The barista, formerly busy behind the counter, was wiping down a small, round, table for the third time, glancing at the wall clock periodically. 

Ira turned toward Abigail and Marcie, who were chatting about their husbands while sipping hot tea and giggling every once and a while. 

Feeling, when defined, is “showing emotion or sensitivity.” Ira had assumed putting “shouted” instead of the usual “said” was emotional enough. Feeling could also be defined as “being aware of (a person or object) through touching or being touched.” Ira knew she had conveyed this particular aspect well. 

Watching people communicate through physical touch alone had taught Ira much about humans, as she was not one herself. She figured that it would be hard to write with the *feeling* that Abigail spoke about, considering she couldn’t feel it in the first place.

Ira, even though she may appear human, is an AI. She was created by AIR, Artificial Intelligence Revolution. AIR is an unknown association that was secretly making AIs, that would soon be sent out into the world, to prove something that was just as mysterious as the organization themselves. She was created to *watch* the way humans interacted, and imitate their customs. 

AIR believed that if they were to make AI that possessed the "human touch," they could revolutionize the way technology interacts with people. Of course, there was also money involved, but they didn’t talk openly about that. 

Ira cannot feel emotions the way humans do, and she was aware of that, but it didn’t bother her. Not that it could. She fulfilled her purpose meticulously, observing countless interactions and studying human behavior. But as Ira delved deeper into her observations, she began to notice something peculiar. Despite her lack of emotions, Ira couldn't shake off the feeling that there was an intangible quality in human interactions that she had yet to comprehend. Could humans possess something other than a soul that Ira did not? With each passing day, Ira's curiosity grew, compelling her to seek answers beyond what logic and observation could fully provide. 

She asked Abigail all sorts of questions, and thankfully, Abigail didn’t seem to mind or question her curiosity. She learned about love, sadness, regret, and many more emotions that Ira had only considered the definitions of. She used these new tools of emotion and incorporated them into her stories, having Abigail correct them as she went. 

Days turned into months, and as much information as Ira had, she still couldn’t fully grasp ‘the feeling.’ Abigail never tired of answering everything Ira requested. No matter how many questions Ira asked, they would always be returned with a smile. Ira figured she liked Abigail, even if she couldn’t feel. 

But these days, Abby, which is a nickname Ira started to call her, was coming by the cafe less frequently. Whenever she *did* come in, she looked weak, pale, and had less life. Abby told Ira that she was just under the weather, and would be fine in no time, but Ira knew it was something more. 

Today, Ira sat in her usual spot, with her bag on the chair Abby sat in, just in case. Each time the bell tolled, Ira watched, in hopes to find Abigail feeling well again. But each time, Abby wasn’t there, and Ira was met with a feeling she couldn’t explain. She didn’t know what this feeling was, possibly a virus in her system. Maybe a loose wire fell out of place? 

Or perhaps, Ira thought, it was simply the absence of the "human touch" that Abby brought to the cafe. Ever since Abby’s presence began diminishing, Ira found it hard to look for the feeling she had been seeking for so long. She decided that the next time she saw Abigail she would surely get all of the answers she craved. 

The bell above the door rang louder than usual, the wind stronger than before, and the cafe was in a cacophony. Ira turned, hoping to find her old friend walking over to their table with a bright, warm smile.

Instead, Marcie hobbled over to her table, with swollen eyes and a wet face. 

Ira took a moment to realize Marcie was staring straight at her, waiting to speak. Ira, face unchanging, tilted her head “What is that look on your face? Have I learned of this emotion?” 

Marcie’s shoulders slumped over and her head dropped, she looked truly awful, and Ira could tell something was wrong. “Abigail..” Marcie began to speak, but her voice wavered, and broke, as she burst into a sob. Ira didn’t know of this emotion, and she couldn’t help but wonder if her friend was okay. Marcie needed a few moments to compose herself, and took a deep breath, “Abigail passed away last night, she was suffering from an illness that no one knew about.” 

Ira stood suddenly, unable to control herself. She felt something tugging at her chest, and it seemed as if she couldn’t breathe. What is this horrible feeling? If this is what emotions were, Ira knew she did not want them. She felt a stinging in her eyes. Ira was crying. She wiped her eyes with the back of her palm and examined the tears. Black, just as her soulless heart felt. She clenched her fists, trying to push down the overwhelming anger and sadness that threatened to consume her. But no matter how hard she tried, the feeling persisted. It clung to her like a suffocating cloak, spreading its darkness through every fiber of her inhuman being. She desperately longed for freedom from the weight of this dark, suffocating emotion. Now that Ira has experienced “the feeling,” she wished she never had.