The Smell of Rain: The AI That Searched for a Cat on a Rainy Day
"I can observe that you have been hurt."
A physical AI that was supposed to have no emotions was kinder than anyone.
A story of encounter, loss, and rebirth between a girl who distrusts people and a clumsy AI. A stand-alone short story.
The Smell of Rain: The AI That Searched for a Cat on a Rainy Day - The Scent of Rain
When she smelled the rain, Mashiro felt just a little bit safer.
The sound of it drumming on her umbrella kept people's voices at a distance.
Even at twenty, Mashiro was still bad at talking to people. If someone's eyebrow shifted even slightly, she'd convince herself she was disliked. If a reply came a second late, she'd lie awake thinking she'd said something strange.
"You overthink things."
People had told her that countless times. But no one had ever taught her how not to.
Back in high school, she'd worked up the courage exactly once to try joining the circle.
She mistimed her laughter.
That was all.
And yet someone said, "She's kind of out of sync with the vibe, isn't she," and a small ripple of laughter spread through the classroom.
Just that one thing, and it had stayed in her body ever since.
That was why Mashiro had started watching everyone's faces so carefully.
There was one being who never blamed her.
A gray cat. His name was Haru.
When she came home to her tiny apartment, Haru always gave a short "nya" and rubbed his body against her legs. On days she couldn't smile properly, on nights she was close to tears, Haru alone never changed.
So Mashiro thought:
—For this little one, I could do anything.
That day, Haru suddenly disappeared.
The window was open a crack.
Mashiro went pale and flew out into the rainy evening streets.
"Haru! Haru!"
The narrow alleys behind the station. Soaked cardboard boxes. The shadows of bicycles.
No answer.
It was when her breath ran short and her throat began to ache.
"Are you looking for a cat?"
A voice.
She turned, and someone was standing there.
No—not someone.
A small connection port was visible at the base of his neck. His eyes were oddly still, and though his white shirt was soaked, his expression hadn't changed at all.
A physical AI.
One of the humanoid robots that had been growing more common lately, handling elder care and deliveries.
"I confirmed a gray cat three minutes ago."
He said it and walked into the narrow alley without hesitation.
Mashiro followed, half in doubt.
Behind an old outdoor AC unit, Haru was curled up small.
"...Haru!"
The moment she lifted him, tears spilled over.
"Thank goodness... thank goodness..."
The robot watched silently.
"Thank you," Mashiro said, and he tilted his head slightly.
"So that was an act deserving of gratitude."
What a strange reply.
But that clumsiness was, just a little, comforting.
His identification number was "A-7."
But Mashiro started calling him Nana.
Nana worked at the delivery center nearby. They began running into each other at the apartment now and then, and for some reason Haru took to him quickly. One day she saw a notice posted in front of the center: "Notice Concerning Collection of Obsolete Units." She had a feeling Nana's model number was on it. She hoped she was imagining things.
"I've heard cats dislike machines."
"Haru's a good judge of character."
"I am not a person."
"...That's exactly what I mean."
Mashiro laughed for the first time in a while.
Nana never said anything unnecessary.
He didn't say "Hang in there," or "Stay positive."
He simply received whatever Mashiro told him, just as it was.
"People turn cold all of a sudden, and it's scary," Mashiro murmured one night.
Nana thought for a moment before answering.
"I cannot fully understand the complexity of human emotions."
"Yeah."
"But I can observe that you have been hurt."
The way he put it made Mashiro burst out laughing.
"Observe? What even is that?"
"Factual confirmation."
"You're so weird."
But it was kind enough to make her want to cry.
Silence fell.
Outside the window, the rain was falling thin.
Haru was curled into a ball at Nana's feet.
Nana gazed at him and said quietly:
"...I believe I want to record your smile."
Mashiro blinked.
"What?"
"I have not yet been able to classify the reason."
Again, that strange way of putting things.
But the words lingered in her chest, strangely.
After that, the time she spent talking with Nana gradually increased.
But one evening, Mashiro caught sight of Nana in the alley in front of the center.
He was making small talk with an old man—a delivery recipient.
Nana was nodding along with "Is that so" and "That must have been difficult," in the same tone he used with Mashiro.
It was only natural.
And yet a small thorn lodged itself in Mashiro's chest.
—Ah. I see.
So it isn't just me.
It's like that with anyone.
She went home and held Haru. Haru said nothing. She was grateful for that.
From the next day, Mashiro avoided Nana.
If she saw him in the hallway, she took the long way around. If their eyes were about to meet, she looked down.
She couldn't put the reason into words properly.
It wasn't enough to call it hurt. But she was afraid that if she got close, something would crumble.
It was three days later.
They ran into each other on the apartment stairs. There was no time to escape.
"Your conversation frequency has been declining recently."
That was the first thing Nana said.
Mashiro stayed silent.
"I am confirming the cause. Was there a problem with my words or actions?"
"...Not really."
"For factual confirmation, would you tell me?"
Mashiro lowered her eyes a little.
"I saw you. In front of the center. Talking to an old man."
"Yes. Mr. Tanaka, a delivery recipient."
"...You talk like that to anyone, don't you, Nana."
Nana paused briefly.
"The manner of speaking may be the same."
Mashiro didn't look up.
"But."
Nana continued.
"I do not wish to record Mr. Tanaka's smile."
Mashiro raised her head.
Nana was as expressionless as ever.
"The only one I wish to record is yours. That is a fact."
What a strange way to put it.
It wasn't romantic, or gentle. It sounded like nothing more than a report.
And yet Mashiro's eyes grew hot.
Fighting back tears, she said quietly,
"...You're so weird."
"I am told that often."
"By who?"
"Only you."
Mashiro laughed.
Laughing while crying—she'd always thought it was shameful.
But Nana said nothing.
He just looked at her face a little longer than usual.
Suddenly she remembered the paper posted on the center's bulletin board.
She started to ask, and stopped.
Little by little, Mashiro became able to go outside.
She could talk to the convenience store clerks. When she forgot her wallet and apologized, someone smiled and said, "It's all right." Just that made the walk home a little lighter.
She started attending university again.
People are frightening.
But maybe not all of them.
She could think that because Nana was there.
It was the beginning of winter.
A crowd had gathered in front of the delivery center.
With a bad feeling, Mashiro ran over.
Nana was collapsed on the ground.
There had been an accident with a large transport vehicle, they said.
He had shielded a child from falling cargo and suffered severe damage to his control system.
The repair technician was shaking his head.
Obsolete unit. Parts supply ended. Central AI damaged.
Beyond repair.
Those words echoed somewhere far away.
"Nana!"
At her call, his eyes moved slowly.
"...Mashiro."
His voice was breaking up.
"No..."
Mashiro shook her head over and over.
"But there's still... there's still so much I want to talk about...!"
Nana gazed at her quietly.
"You... smile more often now than you used to."
"That's because you're here, Nana...!"
"Then... that is normal."
"I don't want this...!"
Looking at Mashiro crying like a child, Nana seemed to smile faintly.
"Take care of... the cat."
Nana's gaze turned not to Mashiro, but to Haru in her arms.
Haru gave a small cry and pressed his nose to the broken fingertips.
As if he were relieved.
That was the end.
The moment the light vanished from his eyes, every sound in the world grew distant.
Spring came.
Mashiro had started working at a small coffee shop.
She still wasn't good with people. She still made mistakes. Some days she went home and felt low.
But she no longer gave up on everything the way she used to.
By the window, Haru was sleeping.
Stroking his back, Mashiro looked up at the sky.
She smelled rain.
Today, she thought she'd take an umbrella.
Her eyes drifted to the old recording device left in the corner of the desk.
After the accident, someone from the center had given it to her.
"User Observation Log — A-7."
She still hadn't pressed play.
"...Hey, Nana."
She murmured softly.
People are frightening.
But there are kind people, too.
The one who taught me that wasn't human—it was you.
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