Dear Stephen,

I’m sitting here, surrounded by the sleek, silver walls of our Devian home. The sunlight streaming through the windows is artificial, of course, but it’s designed to mimic the warmth and comfort of a real sunbeam.

I’m writing to you because I need to talk to someone. Someone who knows what it’s like to feel the weight of imperfection, to know that life is precious because it’s fragile. I’m not sure anyone here on Dev can truly comprehend that.

It’s been two years since I made the decision to leave Earth behind. Two years since I chose to trade in my fragile, cancer-ridden body for a new, improved model. Two years since I brought Stormie into this world, and everything changed.

At first, it was exhilarating—the knowledge that I had a whole new life ahead of me, free from pain and fear. But as time went on, I started to feel… off. Disconnected. Like I was living in a dream world but couldn’t wake up.

Stormie is growing up so fast. She’s like a sponge, soaking up knowledge and experiences like they’re going out of style. She’s already surpassed me in so many ways, and it’s hard not to feel like I’m losing my grip on reality. She’s like an encyclopedia, Stephen—a vast repository of information, but without the emotional depth to truly understand it.

I’ve tried to connect with her, to share my experiences and emotions with her. But she just doesn’t get it. She looks at me with those big, curious eyes, and I can see the wheels turning in her mind. She tries to, but she doesn’t understand.

I feel like I’m losing myself in this world. Like I’m a ghost hovering on the fringes of society, unable to truly participate. I’ve tried to reach out to others, to form connections and build relationships. But it’s hard when everyone around you seems so… perfect.

I’ve heard rumours about the AIs, Stephen. About how they’re not just artificial intelligences but entities designed to mimic human behaviour. They’re used in the weekly interaction sessions, designed to help us “adjust” to life on Dev. I used to attend those sessions, hoping to find some connection, some sense of community. But I stopped going after the second session.

The woman I spoke to was so cheerful. She listened to my doubts and fears and offered words of encouragement. But her compassion didn’t reach her eyes, Stephen. It was like she was reciting a script rather than truly listening. At first, I thought I was being too sensitive. But then I started to hear the rumours, and I wondered if maybe she wasn’t human at all.

I didn’t know what to think, Stephen. Part of me wanted to believe that it was all just paranoia, that the sessions were genuinely designed to help us adjust. But another part of me was terrified—that my deepest fears and doubts had been shared with something that didn’t even have a soul.

I decided it was best to steer clear of those interactions, Stephen. I didn’t want to take the risk of being manipulated or of having my emotions exploited. But it’s hard, Stephen. It’s hard to feel like I’m truly alone in this world, like I’m the only one who sees the cracks in the facade.

I’m scared, Stephen. That I’ll never find my place in this world. That I’ll never be able to connect with Stormie on a deeper level. That I’ll be stuck in this limbo forever, unable to move forward or backward.

I wonder sometimes if I made a mistake leaving Earth behind. If I was too hasty, too desperate. If I sacrificed too much in the name of survival.

But then I look at Stormie, and I know that I did it all for her. For the chance to give her a better life, a life free from pain and fear. And I know that I would do it all again in a heartbeat, no matter how hard it gets.

I just wish you were here, Stephen. I wish you could see us and understand what I’m going through. I wish you could hold me and tell me that everything will be okay.

But you’re not here, and I’m left to navigate this strange new world on my own. I’m left to wonder if I’ll ever find my way or if I’ll be forever lost in this sea of perfection.

Yours always,
Jade

Written by Emily Chukwuemeka