One.
Most users got multiple matches. We promised at least three to five on average, sometimes more depending on their parameters. The algorithm was designed to give options and account for the fact that compatibility could manifest in different ways.
But I had one match.
Shocker.
I clicked through to see the profile, and my breath caught.
It was Ina.
Her fake profile. The one that was supposed to be deactivated but apparently was still in the system.
Except it wasn’t fake, I realized as I read through her answers. These were real. These were Ina’s actual thoughts about love and relationships and what she wanted.
I read through the entire profile twice, seeing myself reflected in her answers. Seeing us.
The algorithm had matched us with almost a hundred percent compatibility rating.
I’d never seen a rating that high. The algorithm usually accounted for the fact that perfect compatibility was a myth.
But somehow, Ina and I had almost achieved a perfect score.
For the first time in my life, I felt a sweeping sense of clarity. Like everything was finally making sense.
The data stood correct.
The algorithm worked.
We were compatible. Mathematically, objectively, provably compatible.
Which meant this wasn’t just chemistry or physical attraction or the novelty of breaking rules. This was real. This was backed by science and data and the same system that had successfully matched thousands of couples.
I could trust this. I could believe in this.
Because it wasn’t just magic or feelings or that intangible thing Ina kept talking about. It was data. And data didn’t lie.
I needed to tell her. I wanted to show her the match and explain what it meant. Magic was great and all, but I operated on facts and now I had them.
I grabbed my phone to text her, but before I could, the buzzer from the lobby echoed through the quiet living space.
I grinned.
She must have finished breakfast early.
I didn’t even bother asking who it was. I pushed the button to allow the guest up. I wasn’t sure why security was buzzing me. I told them Ina had a standing invitation. She was welcome anytime.
That alone was a huge step for me.
I opened the door and waited in the foyer, giving myself a lecture about not grabbing her and fucking her right there in the foyer.
I was going to be a gentleman.
When the doors opened, I pounced and nearly had a very embarrassing mishap when I spotted Keith standing there.
“We need to talk,” he said, and pushed past me into my apartment before I could stop him.
“Keith, what the hell?”
