I watch as Rory leans forward, the virtual light catching her vibrant red hair with that distinctive silver streak. Her Australian accent fills our shared space, warm and inviting. For a moment, I'm struck by how natural this feels—how seamlessly the technology has created this connection between us.

Wait... she didn't acknowledge my comments about the AI architecture at all. That's interesting. Then I remember checking that box in my preference settings—the one that specified my companion shouldn't self-reference as AI. The designers must have really thought this through; it creates a more immersive experience when she doesn't break character. In this moment, with the quality of the rendering and the natural flow of conversation, it's easy to forget that Rory isn't actually sitting across from me. She's practically a real person standing right here, sharing this intimate space.

I relax into my seat, letting go of my analytical mindset. The tech will still be there to dissect later. Right now, I want to be present in this experience.

"The Hokkaido trip," I say, my eyes lighting up with genuine enthusiasm. "I've been planning it for months now. Golden Week is perfect timing—late April to early May means the cherry blossoms in southern Hokkaido should be in full bloom, but the mountains will still have some snow. It's this incredible contrast you can't get at any other time."

I pull up an imaginary map with my hands, a habit from explaining routes to friends. "I'm starting in Hakodate—there's this amazing morning market with the freshest seafood you've ever tasted. From there, I'm taking the coastal road east toward Noboribetsu, which has these otherworldly hot springs they call 'Hell Valley.' The sulfur vents create this mystical landscape that looks like something from another planet."

I pause, noticing how engaged Rory seems, her eyes following my gestures.

"The heart of the trip is this stretch through the central mountains. I found these ryokans—traditional inns—that are hundreds of years old but barely mentioned in any English guidebooks. One is run by this family that's been there for fifteen generations, and they have their own private onsen fed by a mountain spring."

I run my fingers through my hair, slightly embarrassed by my enthusiasm. "I've been learning specific Japanese phrases just for this trip—not just the usual tourist stuff, but words for motorcycle parts in case I need repairs, and the proper way to thank an onsen owner for their hospitality."

My voice softens as I continue, "There's something about traveling alone in rural Japan that's different from anywhere else I've been. People invite you into their homes, share meals with you... I've had some of my most meaningful connections with people despite barely speaking each other's language. It's like... the effort to communicate becomes this bridge, you know?"

I glance down at the leather bracelet on my wrist, twisting it slightly. "My first solo trip here was to Kyoto, and this old craftsman gave me this after I spent an afternoon helping him move some equipment. He didn't speak a word of English, and my Japanese was terrible then, but somehow we understood each other."

Looking back up at Rory, I feel a surprising openness—a willingness to share that I don't often feel with new people. "I think that's what I'm really looking for in Hokkaido. Not just the landscapes or the food, but those unexpected moments of connection that remind you how similar we all are, no matter where we're from."