“It’s a beautiful evening,” I remarked shyly as we exited the Metaverse Store and began our walk through the dimming downtown streets. It had been an all-day affair to find and secure Azha, and though the Metaverse’s Matchmaker assured me that Azha and I were well suited, I had the jitters.

She looked up at me, and I was once again stunned by her blond ringlets, which I had so admired in the catalog. “Yes, it is quite nice. Not too cold.”

‘A bit mechanical,’ I thought. ‘But well mannered.’

“Watch out for the puddles, Azha,” I said. “You wouldn’t want to ruin your new shoes.”

This time when she looked up at me, I could see in her speckled hazel eyes that I had misstepped. “I’m not a baby,” she retorted, pulling ahead.

I hesitated, surprised at her capacity for back talk. ‘Stay cool,’ I whispered to myself, breathing through the fluster.

Azha nevertheless navigated the potholed street carefully, jumping over the larger pools with the grace of a ballerina.

Freckled, rosy cheeks and petite in stature, this girl was everything I had imagined. I had been trying to keep my expectations low after so many years of heartbreak, but I smiled despite myself as I watched her. Such a pretty thing.

Screeeeeeeeeeeeech!

An airmobile careened around the corner at a dizzying speed, nearly sending it into a tailspin.

“Duck!” I yelled, running to her with speed I didn’t know I had in me. I wrapped my arms around her protectively, as the airmobile corrected its navigation and sped off over our heads.

The instinctual, protective fury I felt was foreign to me, but all encompassing. It was out of my mouth before I could stop it: “Slow the fuck down!”

The hooligans hollered maniacally. Azha stared, wide eyed.

“Ohmygod, I’m so sorry,” I stammered. “That is not how I’m meant to act.”

She giggled. An honest-to-god schoolgirl giggle, bubbly and contagious. Soon I was laughing, too.

I untangled myself from her, and as we stood up, it felt natural to reach out and take her hand. I suppose this was my maternal nature revealing itself. Her hand was both soft and warm, and the way it fit so snuggly in mine seemed tailor fit. Perhaps it was.

“You told me not to spoil my shoes, but now look at yours!” She pointed at my suede boots, now ruined by polluted puddle water. I would have been upset with myself for being so careless had it not been for her tinkling laugh, like the delicate wind chimes outside my nana’s kitchen window.

I grinned. “Look what you made me do!” I teased.

Giggling mischievously now, she yanked on my hand, pulling me toward the biggest pooled water on the street.

I protested, pulling away and digging in my heels, but she was laughing so hard, having so much fun, that I relented, and we splashed our way through reflected neon lights, whooping and hollering with an abandonment I hadn’t felt in years. Probably not since I was her age.

At that moment, it was easy to forget that I was not her real mother, and that she was not like you and me, that she lacked a soul and would require routine software updates.

But right now, it was genuine. It was real.

We were real.