We go back to our work, but I can’t stop thinking about what he shared. About the reviewer who tore his project apart.
My stomach churns with guilt about my own harsh review of Zarah’s game.
What if she felt like this? What if my words made someone else doubt their talent?
“Anyway… that was heavy talk for a coffee break,” he says, shaking his head like he’s physically dispersing the ghosts. “What’re you working on? Please tell me it’s something that’ll make me feel smart again.”
“My app.” I turn my laptop so he can see, grateful for safer ground. “It’ll probably be what I submit for my senior showcase next year.”
“Already planning ahead? Overachiever.” He leans in, genuinely interested. “What’s it do?”
“It’s a compatibility matching system for dating or well…life partners.”
“Like Tinder?”
“No.” The word comes out sharp. “Nothing like that. It matches based on actual compatibility metrics, not just... photos and pickup lines.”
“So like eHarmony butsadder?”
“More scientific.” I pull up my reference folder, warming to the topic despite his teasing. “I’ve analyzed data from over a thousand psychological studies on relationship success factors. The algorithm factors in everything—attachment theory, communication patterns, life goals, values...”
“You’re trying to program love?” He clutches his chest dramatically. “Pip, you beautiful genius, you’re going to put romance novels out of business!”
“Not love. Compatibility. There’s a difference.”
“Right, right.” He waves his hand. “Didn’t Shakespeare say that?”
“You’re impossible.”
“I’m delightful. Now explain how your app saves humanity from bad dates.”
I roll my eyes but continue. “Humans are terrible at choosing partners. Over forty percent divorce rate. We let emotions override logic, get distracted by chemistry instead of compatibility.”
“But chemistry’s the fun part!” He leans back, gesturing wildly. “Butterflies! Sparks! That whole ‘I-forgot-how-to-form-sentences-because-they-smiled’ thing!”
“Chemistry lies.” I think of Miles. “It floods your system with dopamine and norepinephrine until you’re making stupid decisions.”
“Speaking from experience?”
“Maybe.” Heat crawls up my neck. I don’t want Ethan to know about Miles yet. I want him to think I’m at least a little cool before he finds out I waited for a guy who didn’t even want me.
“Ah.” He drums his fingers on the table, then brightens. “So your app is like... romantic training wheels! Cold hard data.”
“No, my app just removes the guesswork. Pure data. No lies, no mixed signals, no waiting for someone to maybe possibly notice you exist.”
“Sounds lonely.”
“Sounds safe.”
We stare at each other across the table. He’s the first to look away.
“Can I try it?” He’s already reaching for the laptop. “I want to meet my algorithmically determined soulmate. Bet she likes plants.”
My stomach drops. “It’s still in beta?—”
“Perfect! I love breaking things.” He’s pulling the laptop toward him with grabby hands. “Come on, Pip. Let me find my one true love. Or at least my ‘statistically probable life partner.’”
“Ok, but the database only has like fifty people?—”
