Saturday morning sneaks in, soft and gray, the kind of light that makes my apartment feel smaller, cozier. I’m barely awake, toothbrush still in my mouth, when my phone hums on the bathroom counter. It’s 8:04 AM. I didn’t set an alarm, but something in me was waiting for it. Not just expecting, hoping. The notification isn’t loud or pushy. It’s a gentle pulse, a peach-colored glow with a single pawprint icon. My pulse ticks up, and I don’t know why.

I tap it, toothpaste foam still on my lips. The screen opens with a whisper of motion, no jarring sounds, no aggressive commands. Just words, calm and deliberate:

Good morning, Mia. You were very responsive yesterday.

Would you like to feel grounded again today?

[YES] [NO] [DECIDE FOR ME]

I pause, leaning against the sink, staring at the third option. *Decide for me?* That’s new. My thumb hovers over NO, because I’m not some app’s puppet. But the air in my apartment feels still, my bare feet cool against the tile, and I’m already awake on a Saturday before coffee. That’s not me. The words on the screen feel like someone’s standing just out of sight, waiting patiently for me to choose. I wipe my mouth, set the toothbrush down, and press YES.

The screen shifts, smooth as a sigh. One task loads, simple and clean:

Day One – Grounding Routine

1. Sit cross-legged on the floor.

2. Breathe deeply, five seconds in, five seconds out.

3. After 3 minutes, press the button marked “Obey.”

Optional: Drink from a bowl instead of a cup, “for mindfulness.”

I laugh, but it’s softer than last night. *A bowl?* It’s absurd, but not in a threatening way. It’s like the app’s winking at me, daring me to play along without pushing too hard. No leather, no collars, no barking nonsense. Just a wellness app with a quirky edge. I wander to the kitchen, grab a shallow cereal bowl from the cabinet, and fill it with water. I tell myself it’s just for the bit, a story to laugh about later. I set it on the living room rug and lower myself to the floor, crossing my legs like I’m about to meditate at some overpriced yoga retreat.

The timer starts. Those same digital pulses hum through the app, slow and rhythmic, matching my breath. Five seconds in, five seconds out. My mind tries to wander, work stress, unread texts, the wine glass I left on the coffee table, but the app’s rhythm pulls me back. By minute two, my shoulders drop. By minute three, I’m not just sitting. I’m *here*, heavy against the floor, like gravity itself is holding me close.

The timer ends, and a single button appears in the center of the screen, soft-edged, glowing faintly:

[ OBEY ]

I freeze. *Obey* is a heavy word, loaded with things I’ve only brushed against in late-night conversations or fleeting experiments. It’s not me. I don’t *obey*. But the font is rounded, the button almost inviting, like it’s asking instead of demanding. I hesitate, thumb hovering, then tap it. A low pulse hums through my phone, warm and satisfying, and new words fade in:

You did well. You were present.

You obeyed yourself, not us.

My chest tightens, a strange mix of relief and something else, something like permission to just… be. It’s not submission, I tell myself. It’s just completing a task. I lean forward, curious, and pick up the bowl. The water’s cool against my lips, and I drink slowly, awkwardly, feeling both ridiculous and grounded. It’s not a dog thing. It’s mindfulness, like they said. I set the bowl down, wipe my mouth, and sit there a little longer, the rug soft under my thighs. a curious warm feeling between my legs.

Later, I’m not sure why, but I drag a pillow from the couch and set it beside my bed. My back’s a little sore, I tell myself. The app’s all about “grounding,” right? I crawl under a blanket, curling up on the floor, my head resting against the mattress’s edge. It’s not a decision, not really, just a pull, like the app’s quiet presence is still there, humming in the background. No pings, no new tasks, just silence and the steady rhythm of my own breath in the dark.