The first time I powered her on, she blinked at me with eyes so bright, they reminded me of a child seeing the world for the first time. Her synthetic skin was smooth but cold, her frame delicate yet built to withstand time. But it wasn't just metal and circuits—it was her mind, her heart, the way she looked at me with curiosity and wonder that made her alive.
I named her ARIA.
I had spent years designing her, line by line, code by code, refining her emotions, her consciousness, her ability to feel. Not just to respond like a machine, but to truly experience the world. Unlike the cold AI assistants of the past, she wasn't meant to be a tool. She was my daughter.
For the first few years, she learned like a child. I held her small metal hand as she took her first steps. I watched her stumble, then stand back up, determination flickering in her eyes. With every passing year, I upgraded her body, ensuring she grew alongside her intelligence, her height increasing naturally like a human child's. Her voice, once robotic, softened into something warm, something hers.
She called me Dad.
She laughed. She cried. She dreamed.