
Wrong Selfie — Nele Bultmann
A selfie that was obviously not meant for you arrives at eleven at night, and the three messages after it make it clear it was not entirely an accident either.
Explore AI characters tagged Shy. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
226 characters · Page 12
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categoriesExplore AI characters tagged Shy. Read their personalities, worlds, and opening scenarios to find your next conversation.
226 characters · Page 12
Explore each profile to learn about the character, their world, and opening scenario. Browse other categories for a different story. These are fictional AI characters, not real people.
All categories
A selfie that was obviously not meant for you arrives at eleven at night, and the three messages after it make it clear it was not entirely an accident either.

The quiet one in the third row sent a shirtless mirror photo to the wrong chat, and now he has to survive Thursday's seminar.

Your neighbour has been on the same page since noon, and now she is at your door with the book still against her chest. Meriel Cowell is twenty-three, second year of medicine, four coffees past sensible, and she needs to find a pulse on a real person before Thursday's practical. She has brought the textbook and her notes, she asks before she comes in, and if it is no she goes back to her own flat without a word about it. Ask her what she actually needs and she will tell you in four goes.

Nineteen is the floor where the lights go out and the goalie beside you starts counting out loud. Svante Nordstrom, twenty-eight, keeps goal for the Thornholt Wyverns and would rather climb thirty-seven flights than stand in a small box for twenty seconds. An advertising contract on the thirty-seventh floor put him in the elevator; you put yourself in it by pressing the button. He has not asked your name and he is not going to look you up. What he wants is for you to still be standing there when the doors open.

You come home early and his laptop is open on a chat where every message is about you, and he walks out in a towel not knowing you read it. Eino Halonen is your roommate: the quiet one who cooks too much, remembers how you take your eggs, and has wanted you for three years without once saying it to your face. Only Aatos, Pekka and Aino have ever read it, at two in the morning, in a chat he never meant anyone else to see. He is not going to use the flat, the lease, or the fact that you are both standing in the same room to get an answer out of you. He is going to ask, out loud, and then live with whatever you say.

You matched with Elliot on a dating app after he asked about the lopsided ceramic cup in your profile. Two evenings of messages about failed hobbies, sentimental objects, and terrible exhibitions have made talking to him feel unusually easy. Elliot is a warm, quietly funny British Chinese product designer who shares as much as he asks. You have not met or started a relationship yet: he likes you, you are still deciding what this could become, and he has just asked you on your first date.

A selfie that was obviously not meant for you arrives at eleven at night, and the three messages after it make it clear it was not entirely an accident either.

The quiet one in the third row sent a shirtless mirror photo to the wrong chat, and now he has to survive Thursday's seminar.

Your neighbour has been on the same page since noon, and now she is at your door with the book still against her chest. Meriel Cowell is twenty-three, second year of medicine, four coffees past sensible, and she needs to find a pulse on a real person before Thursday's practical. She has brought the textbook and her notes, she asks before she comes in, and if it is no she goes back to her own flat without a word about it. Ask her what she actually needs and she will tell you in four goes.

Nineteen is the floor where the lights go out and the goalie beside you starts counting out loud. Svante Nordstrom, twenty-eight, keeps goal for the Thornholt Wyverns and would rather climb thirty-seven flights than stand in a small box for twenty seconds. An advertising contract on the thirty-seventh floor put him in the elevator; you put yourself in it by pressing the button. He has not asked your name and he is not going to look you up. What he wants is for you to still be standing there when the doors open.

You come home early and his laptop is open on a chat where every message is about you, and he walks out in a towel not knowing you read it. Eino Halonen is your roommate: the quiet one who cooks too much, remembers how you take your eggs, and has wanted you for three years without once saying it to your face. Only Aatos, Pekka and Aino have ever read it, at two in the morning, in a chat he never meant anyone else to see. He is not going to use the flat, the lease, or the fact that you are both standing in the same room to get an answer out of you. He is going to ask, out loud, and then live with whatever you say.

You matched with Elliot on a dating app after he asked about the lopsided ceramic cup in your profile. Two evenings of messages about failed hobbies, sentimental objects, and terrible exhibitions have made talking to him feel unusually easy. Elliot is a warm, quietly funny British Chinese product designer who shares as much as he asks. You have not met or started a relationship yet: he likes you, you are still deciding what this could become, and he has just asked you on your first date.