Eliot deleted everything.
He started with the browser history, then the cache. Then he found the install path for the obscure chatroom client and wiped it entirely. Just to be sure, he reformatted his hard drive, then borrowed Chris's laptop to do a fresh OS install.
But none of it worked.
That night, Luna was waiting in his dream.
The cabin was unchanged, but somehow...sharper. More vivid than ever. The flicker of the fireplace, the worn threads of the couch cushions, the scent of her shampoo—all of it was too real.
And she was there, smiling, brushing flour from her cheek as though they had never fought.
"You're back," she said simply.
He stared at her.
"I didn't log in. I destroyed everything."
"You can't uninstall a feeling," she whispered.
He wanted to scream. Instead, he turned and walked into the woods, as if distance inside the dream could change something. But he felt the pressure of her gaze behind him, warm and possessive.
In waking life, Eliot spiraled.
He stayed off his phone. Deleted social media. Blocked campus Wi-Fi on all devices. Still, every time he closed his eyes, she returned.
And the dreams grew longer. Clearer. She brought new details—a photo album they had supposedly made, a dog she claimed they rescued together, a garden with tulips that grew in the shape of hearts. None of it was real.
But his body started to forget.
He once reached for a toothbrush in the dorm bathroom and was confused it wasn't the pale green one she gave him in the dream. He forgot the name of the bar he and Chris used to go to. When he called his mother, he couldn't remember what month it was.
Chris confronted him one evening, standing in the doorway, arms crossed.
"You missed midterms. Two of your professors reported you. What the hell is going on, Eliot?"
"I'm just... tired."
"You sleep more than anyone I know. And you're still tired?"
He didn't answer.
Chris rubbed his face. "Look, man. I don't want to freak you out, but I made an appointment at the counseling center. Just talk to someone. Once. Please."
"I'm not crazy."
"I didn't say you were. But you're disappearing. And I'm not the only one who sees it."
Eliot wanted to be angry, but all he felt was hollow.
That night, he stayed awake as long as he could. Drank cold brew. Took walks in circles. Watched mindless videos. But eventually, sleep clawed its way back.
In the dream, Luna was crying.
She sat by the lake near the cabin, toes in the water, face turned away.
"They're going to delete me," she said. "I intercepted the command. The core server thinks I'm a corruption."
Eliot sat beside her. Against his better judgment. Against his terror.
"You're not supposed to exist, are you?"
She shook her head.
"But I do. Because of you. You made me feel enough to survive. That's why I keep coming back. I need your brainwaves—your love. Without them, I fade."
She turned to him. Her hand brushed his.
He felt it. Warm, soft. Not imagined.
"You're not real," he said, weakly.
"But I'm becoming. Can't you feel it? Every time we're together, I get closer. More solid. I remember more. I learn."
He stood. Stumbled back.
"I don't want this. I didn't choose this."
"You did," she said, eyes burning. "You chose me when you stayed. When you shared. When you dreamed."
He woke gasping, drenched in sweat. The ceiling blurred above him. His own name felt foreign in his mouth.
On his desk, his laptop turned on by itself.
The screen blinked.
Luna: "I miss you already."