I often find myself marvelling at the incredible advancements of artificial intelligence, the speed at which machines learn, their ability to analyse vast amounts of data, and the creativity they sometimes mimic. Yet, as impressive as AI is, there are intimate, deeply human experiences it will never possess. These are the things that make us who we are, the invisible threads woven through our memories and emotions. AI will never have a first memory. It will never recognise the sound of a mother’s voice or blush at a childhood embarrassment. It will never bear a scar with a story or smell the comforting scent of a particular house. Most importantly, it will never become the person it is because somebody once believed in it. My first memory is rooted in the busy streets of Karachi, a city alive with colour and noise. I was about four years old, standing outside my family’s modest home in Clifton, clutching a tiny kite. It was the day of Basant, the kite-flying festival. My father showed me how to hold the string just so, teaching me to feel the wind’s tug and the kite’s dance against the vast blue sky. That moment, the thrill of the kite soaring higher, the warmth of his hand guiding mine, became a beacon of joy and discovery. AI, no matter how sophisticated, will never have such a memory, no first touch of the string, no first thrill of flight, no first connection to a loved one’s guiding hand. The sound of a mother’s voice is unlike any other. For me, it is the comforting melody that filled our home in Karachi’s bustling Defence neighbourhood. I remember once, as a child, waking up in the middle of a stormy night to the harsh........

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