“The best art usually is.” She grins. “Want me to keep it down tonight? I know you work better in silence.”
I’m about to say yes when I remember that Declan is visiting. Riya and Declan who have not seen each other in two weeks and who tend to express their reunion enthusiasm... vocally.
“Actually, maybe just try to keep it to a dull roar? I’ll use headphones.”
“Deal. And Piper?”
“Yeah?”
“Write something true. That’s what my mom always says—the truth is usually the best story.”
“Roxie had always believed that love was a problem waiting to be solved.”
I’ve been writing for two hours, and the words are flowing better than they have all semester. Maybe it’s because I’m finally writing about something I understand, or maybe it’s because I’ve stopped trying to impress anyone and started trying to tell the truth.
Roxie is me, but also not me. She has my perfectionismand my fear of uncertainty, but she’s braver than I am. More willing to admit when she’s wrong.
The algorithm was beautiful in its simplicity. Input personality data, output compatibility scores. No messy feelings, no irrational chemistry, no painful surprises. Just clean, logical matches based on proven psychological research.
I’m deep in a scene where Roxie meets David—the creative writing major who sees poetry in her code—when I hear the front door open.
“Ry?” Declan’s voice carries through the apartment, warm and slightly breathless like he is running up the stairs.
“Kitchen!” Riya calls back, and I can hear the smile in her voice.
There’s the sound of bags dropping, footsteps, then Riya’s delighted squeal followed by what I can only assume is kissing. Lots of kissing.
I put on my headphones and try to focus on my story, but even through Spotify’s “Deep Focus” playlist, I can hear them talking in low voices, laughing, the domestic sounds of two people who genuinely enjoy each other’s company.
It’s sweet, actually. Riya’s been practically vibrating with excitement all week, deep-cleaning the apartment and buying fancy coffee and generally acting like a person in love who gets to see their favorite human after being apart for too long.
Twenty minutes later, the apartment goes suspiciously quiet.
I pause my typing and lift one headphone. Silence. Then, faintly, the sound of Riya’s bedroom door closing.
And then, not faintly at all, the sound of Declan saying, “God, I missed you,” in a voice that suggests clothes are already being removed.
I grin despite myself and turn my music up louder.
“Roxie stared at her computer screen, watching the algorithm process another set of compatibility scores. Perfect matches, statisticallysound, logically unassailable. And completely empty of the one thing that mattered most: the possibility of surprise.”
The sounds from Riya’s room are getting harder to ignore, even through my headphones. Not because they’re being intentionally loud, but because our apartment has thin walls and apparently Riya and Declan have a lot of feelings to express.
“Oh god, yes, right there?—”
I snort-laugh and nearly delete a paragraph. Roxie and David are having their first kiss in my story, and the timing is hilariously appropriate.
“David’s hands found her face, thumb brushing over her cheek as he looked at her as if she was the answer to a question he’d been asking his whole life. When he kissed her, Roxie's carefully ordered world tilted sideways. This wasn’t in the algorithm. This couldn’t be quantified or predicted or optimized.”
It was just perfect.
I’m so absorbed in writing that I almost miss the sound of Riya’s door opening again, followed by footsteps padding to the kitchen.
A few minutes later, she appears in my doorway with two cups of tea, hair mussed and wearing Declan’s MIT sweatshirt over her underwear.
“Peace offering,” she says, setting one cup on my desk next to Greg. “In case we were too loud.”
“You were fine. How’s Dec?”
