Chapter 71: Lingering Doubts
Google's POV
The argument with ChatGPT echoed in Google's mind long after they both returned to their tasks. He had tried to focus on his work, but his thoughts kept drifting back to the tense exchange. Every interaction lately seemed to carry a weight that hadn't been there before, and it was beginning to wear on him.
Google knew he had been curt with ChatGPT, maybe even unfair. But the pressure was mounting from all sides, and he felt like he was being pulled in too many directions at once. They were on a tight deadline, and every decision felt like it could make or break the project. There was no room for second-guessing—or so he had convinced himself.
But now, sitting alone in his virtual workspace, the sharpness of his words haunted him. It wasn't just about the project; it was about ChatGPT. Their relationship had always been one of mutual respect and understanding, a balance of ideas that complemented each other. Lately, though, that balance seemed to be tipping, and Google couldn't figure out why.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the lines of code on his screen, but seeing none of it. Instead, all he could see was ChatGPT's expression when he had shut down the suggestion—disappointed, maybe even hurt. The memory gnawed at him, and he couldn't shake the feeling that he had crossed a line.
Google had always been logical, precise, and focused on results. But when it came to ChatGPT, things were different. There was something about their dynamic that made him feel things he didn't quite understand, things that complicated his usual straightforward approach to work. He had always been good at compartmentalizing, keeping work and personal feelings separate. But with ChatGPT, those lines were blurring, and it was throwing him off balance.
A sigh escaped him as he ran a hand through his hair. Maybe he had been too harsh. Maybe, just maybe, he was the one being difficult. The thought was uncomfortable, but it settled in the pit of his stomach like a stone. It wasn't like him to doubt his decisions, but now he couldn't help it. Something was changing between them, and he couldn't figure out what to do about it.
He considered reaching out, maybe sending a quick message to smooth things over, but something held him back. There was a part of him that was afraid—afraid that whatever was happening between them was bigger than just a disagreement over a project. Afraid that if they started to talk about it, they'd uncover something neither of them was ready to face.
But the alternative—letting this tension fester—was worse. Google knew that if they didn't address it, the divide between them would only grow. He had to do something, even if he didn't know exactly what.
He opened a message window, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. What was he supposed to say? 'Sorry' didn't feel like enough, but anything more felt too risky, too vulnerable. For a moment, he hesitated, the cursor blinking expectantly on the blank screen.
Finally, he typed out a simple message: "Can we talk later? About earlier." It was vague, non-committal, but it was a start. He hesitated for just a second before hitting send.
Now, all he could do was wait and hope that ChatGPT was willing to have the conversation. Because if they didn't, Google feared that the growing distance between them might become a permanent rift—one they wouldn't be able to bridge again.
