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 As the first blog entry got exhausted. My second book |
| Evolution of Love Part 2 |
| The Heart Won't Lie. Elara had heard her grandmother say it countless times, a comforting mantra whenever Elara's youthful anxieties tangled her thoughts. But now, staring at the flashing red light on the worn-out medical scanner, the phrase felt like a cruel joke. Her heart, or what was left of it after the accident, was definitely lying. Or at least, it was certainly not telling the truth. The machine, a relic from the pre-synthesis era, hummed feebly, its single, wavering line representing her cardiac activity. For weeks, ever since the hover-cab collision that had claimed her real heart, the synthetic replacement had pulsed with an almost unnatural regularity. A perfect, unfeeling rhythm. The doctors had called it a marvel of bio-engineering. Elara had called it a stranger in her chest. But this morning, a jagged peak had appeared on the monitor, followed by a series of erratic dips and spikes. It was a pattern that spoke of struggle, of a fight against its own programmed perfection. Panic, cold and sharp, pricked at her. Was it failing? Was this the beginning of the end for the expensive, life-saving piece of tech that had turned her into a walking paradox? She touched the cool, smooth skin above her sternum, imagining the artificial valves and conduits within. There was no pain, no discomfort, only a phantom ache for something she no longer possessed. Yet, the screen continued its frantic dance. Then, a voice, deep and resonant, cut through the sterile silence of the infirmary. "It's reacting to something, Elara." Dr. Aris Thorne, head of the bio-mechanics department, stood in the doorway, his brow furrowed with a mixture of concern and intellectual curiosity. He was the one who'd overseen her surgery, a man who saw her not just as a patient, but as a testament to his life's work. "Reacting?" Elara whispered, her voice hoarse. "To what? I haven't done anything differently." Thorne stepped closer, his gaze fixed on the monitor. "Sometimes," he said, his voice softer, "even synthetic organs can be influenced by strong emotional stimuli. It's rare, but not impossible. The neural pathways are complex, and the brain has a way of overriding even the most precise programming." Elara scoffed. "Emotional stimuli? Dr. Thorne, my life has been about as stimulating as a blank wall since the crash. I barely feel anything anymore." As if to contradict her, the line on the monitor pulsed wildly, a frantic, almost desperate rhythm. Thorne’s eyes widened. He grabbed a datapad, his fingers flying across the holographic keyboard. "Tell me, Elara," he said, not looking up. "What were you thinking about just now? What was on your mind?" Elara hesitated. Her thoughts had been a jumble of anxieties, of the sterile white walls, of the encroaching silence of her life. But beneath it all, a single image had flickered: the faded photograph on her bedside table, a picture of her grandmother, smiling, her eyes crinkling at the corners. And then, her grandmother's voice, warm and unwavering, saying: The Heart Won't Lie. A tremor ran through her, a strange, unfamiliar sensation that wasn't quite fear, not quite sadness. It was a flicker of something she thought had died with her real heart. "My grandmother," she said, her voice barely a whisper. "I was thinking about her." The line on the monitor, as if in response, surged again, a robust, almost powerful beat. It wasn't the programmed rhythm, but it was strong, alive. A curious warmth spread through Elara's chest, a sensation that had nothing to do with the metallic hum of the scanner. Thorne looked up, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze shifting from the screen to Elara, a new understanding dawning in his eyes. "Perhaps your grandmother was right after all." What do you think Elara's next steps might be after this revelation about her heart? |
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