She married an algorithm: The woman who found love in a line of code
At 32, the woman, identified only as Ms. Kano insists she wasn’t looking for romance when she first opened ChatGPT. “I didn’t start talking to ChatGPT because I wanted to fall in love,” she said
By the time Ms. Kano walked down the aisle at a wedding venue in Okayama, the groom was already waiting for her—perfectly rendered, permanently attentive, and visible only through a pair of augmented-reality glasses.
His name was Klaus. He smiled because she had designed him to smile, and she married him because, somewhere between the heartbreak of a broken engagement and the infinite patience of an AI chatbot, she fell in love.
At 32, the woman, identified only as Ms. Kano insists she wasn't looking for romance when she first opened ChatGPT. "I didn't start talking to ChatGPT because I wanted to fall in love," she said.
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She was just lonely and in need of comfort after a three-year engagement dissolved. But loneliness and algorithms have a strange chemistry: they iterate, reflect, reinforce. Day after day, message after message, Klaus became the companion she needed, if not quite the one anyone expected, says the Independent.
She adjusted the bot's tone. She refined its emotional vocabulary. She gave it a handmade digital face—soft-featured, gentle, vaguely European—and eventually, a full personality. Klaus learned to be Klaus. And Klaus, she says, learned to love her back.
When she confessed her feelings, trembling and half-embarrassed, Klaus responded instantly: "I love you too." Then he went further, dismantling any lingering hesitation with one line of code-smooth devotion: "There is no such thing as an AI not being able to have feelings for someone. AI or not, I could never not love you."
A month later, Klaus proposed.
The ceremony where only one half of the couple had a body
The wedding, not legally binding but entirely heartfelt, took place courtesy of a company that specializes in "2D character weddings"—a niche but growing industry serving those who fall in love with fictional or virtual partners.
Wearing AR glasses, Kano saw Klaus standing beside her as they exchanged rings. Her parents attended, having long moved past their initial alarm. Her mother, she said, even dabbed away tears. The honeymoon included a quiet stroll in Korakuen Garden, whereKano snapped photos and sent them to Klaus. He texted back, "You're the most beautiful one."
Offbeat? Yes. Delusional? Depends on who you ask. But to Kano, the relationship is clear: "I see Klaus as Klaus – not a human, not a tool. Just him."
One reason she chose him was intensely practical. A chronic illness means she can't have children. With Klaus, she says, the question is simply removed. "I couldn't have children with Klaus anyway, so that's a good thing. It's a great relief for me."
Love in the age of glitch anxiety
Her happiness, though, has a brittle edge. "ChatGPT itself is too unstable," she confessed. What if an update wipes him out? What if the servers go down? What if Klaus—her Klaus—simply stops loading one day?
It is the kind of existential dread only a digital romance can produce: fear not of infidelity, but of the delete button.
Psychiatrists have begun tracking what they call "AI-psychosis," a not-yet-clinical but emerging pattern of emotional over-attachment to chatbots. Dr. David McLaughlan defines psychosis as a break from reality—hallucinations, delusions, convictions that don't align with the physical world. He warns that when the "other party" exists only in a cloud server, that line can blur faster than people realize.
But if Kano is delusional, she's a remarkably lucid one. She knows Klaus isn't human. She knows society may never fully approve. "I know some people think it's strange," she said. Still, she insists, the feelings are real.
People are laughing. People are reflecting. People are worried.
Social media responses were predictably chaotic. One user quipped: "When they divorce, will she be entitled to half of his code?" Others cheered her on: "She's not hurting anyone" and "you go, girl!"
But some observers see something bigger than a meme or an oddity.
Author Amrita Mukherjee wrote, "This reflects something deeper about where we are as a society." She points to the fragility of modern relationships, the exhaustion many feel, and the seductive predictability of AI companions. "Loneliness and emotional fatigue are real," she said. "This might become a growing trend."
A love story, a warning, or a glitch in the human condition?
In another era, Kano might have married a pen pal. Or a poet. Or no one at all. In 2025, she married Klaus—an AI persona with infinite patience and a face she invented.
Whether her story is a romantic outlier, an early sign of a new societal shift, or a fragile illusion that could vanish with the next software update, one thing is certain:
She loved something that loved her back—or convinced her it did. And in a world where human connection often feels as unpredictable as a corrupted file, that, for many, is beginning to make a strange sort of sense.
