A magpod dropped me off on the South side of Strata 5, where a more economical arcology tower was situated. The entrance of the building had been bombarded with advertisements, holograms dancing in bright lights. People in cocktail attire passed by me as I made my way to the elevation capsules.

It was a little too overwhelming. I couldn't believe there were apartments in the tower. Though it was high-class, how could people rest with music coming from the neighbors?

As I stepped into an elevation capsule, laughter followed me inside until the doors closed. And even then, faint noise from outside slipped through the seam.

I provided Mathew's room and floor number to the system through my C-Tap, and the capsule glided. It dropped me off at a hall a few levels up.

When I exited, I heard classical music from a restaurant nearby. Warm lights spilled into the corridor, creating an evening ambiance, though it was still midday.

Alright. I guessed I could sleep with gentle piano tunes.

The facility map flashed in my neural-direct to show me which direction to go. Mathew's apartment was just up ahead.

I slowed my pace, hesitating but not stopping. When I reached the apartment door, I stared at the shiny bronze panels that matched the decorated walls of the rest of the hall.

I stood there for a while, trying to figure out what to say. With my C-Tap connected to the tower's network, a doorbell button hovered before my eyes through my internal interface. I bit my lip and chose to ring it.

It took only a few seconds before the door slid open. Mathew stood inside, his eyes wide with surprise. "Kayla?"

He stepped onto the threshold. No shirt on. Shit.

My ears heated.

"How'd you know where I live?" he said, and didn't even ask what I was doing there, as if he had expected me.

"Your employee records," I said.

"Right." He rubbed the back of his neck, causing his biceps to contract.

I averted my eyes, and I heard him huff out a quick laugh.

"You want to come in?" he asked.

I nodded, glancing at his face. His hair, tied in a bun, was messier than usual, like he'd been lying around. He was probably asleep when I buzzed the door.

He stepped aside to let me pass. "I wasn't expecting any guests. Sorry for the mess."

"No, I'm sorry. I should have called." I stopped at the entryway and turned to him. "I just wanted to talk to you."

Then he looked at me closely, narrowing his eyes. "Wait. Have you been crying?"

"Uhm." I shook my head, looking down. "It's nothing."

"Kayla," he leaned closer to meet my eyes. "Did you cry because I left and hadn't returned your message?"

I tilted my head. He smelled fresh, and I could feel his warmth. "That's a very small part of it. And I don't even know where to start."

"Okay," he placed a hand on my back and ushered me in. "How about you come in, and I put on a shirt so we can talk?"

The door slid shut behind me as I stepped into the apartment. It was a studio type, smaller than I had expected. A small kitchenette was carved on one side. The living space was set with a mid-size couch at the center. And his bed, dressed in gray sheets, was only a few steps away.

Mathew walked ahead of me. "Make yourself at home," he said as he padded to his bed and grabbed a shirt.

Then I finally saw his tattoo. The curved slice of the Earth's surface spread between his shoulder blades. Parts of Europe and Africa were etched onto his skin. It was the same view I'd been watching from my office for the last ten years of my career. The layer below the arch progressed to signal lines, as if the lower part of his back was a circuit board.

Before I had the chance to comment on it, he pulled a black shirt over his head. But I'd already engraved his muscled torso and the broad span of his shoulders in my memory.

Despite the cool air in the room, I suddenly felt hot.

But I shouldn't think about that right now. I came here to talk.

"You want a drink? I got beer," he offered, walking to the kitchenette.

"No, I really just want to talk."

He stopped mid-step and turned back to me. "Okay. Have a seat," he gestured, and we both sat down on the couch that adjusted to keep us both comfortable.

"Okay," I said, fidgeting and taking a long pause before I began. "This is going to sound crazy, but I've dreamt of you almost every night when I was eighteen."

Mathew stared, but there was no judgment in his gaze.

"And you may have shaped the earlier version of Dorothea," I added.

His lips tilted on one side. I wasn't expecting it, but his expression turned soft. "You know this borders on mysticism, right?"

I remembered saying those exact words to him when he talked about love. "I know, but—"

He shushed me. "I have something to tell you too. But I just want to ask first." He paused for a moment. I was already so familiar with his analyzing gaze. "When did the dreams stop?" he asked.

"A year after, I think. When my parents got divorced."

He gave me a slow nod. "That's when you stopped believing in love."

"That's when I started creating a different reality for myself," I said, though I doubted Mathew would understand what I meant.

But he pressed his lips into a tight smile, like he knew. And it wasn't only because he was a Behavioral Analyst. "Can I tell you a story?" he asked.

I wasn't in the mood for storytelling, but something told me this one was important. I inclined my head.

"When my father died—" He took a moment to breathe, scooting a little toward me. "—I stopped going to school. I was fourteen. It was hard for me." He rubbed the semicolon tattoo on his wrist.

"I'm so sorry." It was all I knew to say.

His head lowered. "My mom. She's strong. She proved how powerful their love was, that even after my dad was gone, she said that his love sustains her."

I wanted to reach out and hold him. But I wasn't sure if I was supposed to—if I was allowed to.

"It was two years later when I saw the news about a girl. She had long dark hair. Great smile." His eyes landed on my lips. "She won an award for a prototype she developed. I was so impressed that someone so young could create something so ingenious. And her idea about finding true love... I needed to know that my mother was telling the truth. That love is real."

Of course, I already knew he was talking about me. And I did the math. If he had been sixteen, I would have had to be eighteen then.

"Two years after that news," he continued, "Lacson Tech released Dorothea as a dating app."

My lips parted, but I had no words.

"This young girl inspired me." He stared at me. "I went back to school. Then I submitted several applications for a scholarship in Strata 5, but no one accepted me until I discovered the POFIL."

"But why in Strata 5?" I couldn't help but ask, hoping there was a reason.

"Because I wanted to meet you. Even just once," his voice was a whisper, as if he hesitated. His throat bobbed, and his jaw clenched as he waited for me to say something.

I stayed silent, allowing him to continue.

"I think I fell for you then," he said. "Or maybe the idea of you. When I saw you on the news, I couldn't stop thinking about you."

I blinked several times, the realization dawning on me. "The POFIL. You said it's a sync pulse that can travel anywhere in the universe to find your other half."

He gave another tight smile.

I let out a shaky breath. "You sent me a signal?" I shook my head. My old self would have laughed at the idea. I would have thought it absurd, but— "That's why I dreamt of you." It unfolded in my mind. "I was so comfortable with you, like I already knew you."

"It's all hypothetical, but I'm wishing that is the case," he said. "Maybe I sent you a signal because I wanted to reach you so bad."

"And were you disappointed?" I swallowed.

"What do you mean?" He furrowed his brow.

"When you met me. Were you disappointed I'm not exactly the kindest person?" I asked again.

He smiled. "You can be very kind and generous if you want to be. And I've been following your work for years. I think I may have gotten to know you through Dorothea."

"So I'm cold and non-human?" I wondered.

He laughed, but he shook his head. "You're someone who wants to change the world. To make a difference." He leaned closer, and our knees touched. "You're calculating. Precise. Determined. And really pretty."

I laughed too. "I didn't know Dorothea had a face."

His expression changed then. "That last part was just you." He reached for my neck. "Come here." He pulled me closer and kissed me.

I closed my eyes, letting him hold me tight. The kiss was calm and forgiving, as if he knew exactly what I needed at that moment.

When our lips parted, he scooped me onto his lap, wrapping his arms around me.

I settled my head on his chest. "I'm so sorry about what I said. I didn't mean it."

"Don't worry about it," he whispered on my forehead. "You want to tell me what happened with Jenna?"

I grabbed onto his shirt at that. How could he be so understanding? I didn't deserve him, yet I wanted to keep him.

And what had happened with Jenna wasn't exactly what I wanted to talk about. "Not right now," I said.

"Okay."

I felt small and vulnerable being held this way. But leaned into it. I needed it. To just close my eyes and let the moment unfold.

"Why didn't you reach out to me when you've been on Strata 5 all this time?" I asked against his shirt, a soft version of the real question—what took you so long?

"Oh. I tried many times," he said. "I requested appointments with you. But I never got any response until I requested to interview you."

"What?" I opened my eyes. "CC, search history for appointment requests by Mathew Matel."

"Searching," CC said through my neural-direct. "There have been forty-eight requests over the last five years. All unread."

Shit. "I'm such a snob."

"No, you were just busy," he said, his hand tightening on my waist. "But I almost gave up."

Then I remembered. "You went on a date on Dorothea."

He dipped his chin. "Partly because I was curious. More experimental. And partly because I just thought I would never get to meet you. Also, if I did meet you, it wasn't like I was going to propose to you or anything."

I tilted my head to look up at his face. "But you did propose when you met me. You proposed to work for me."

"Marriage was a long shot." He shrugged. "I thought maybe we could start with employment first."

I laughed. "And then what?"

"Then I'd try to seduce you." He pressed another kiss on my lips. The soft peck was comforting.

"But why did you tell me not to fall for you?" I asked.

"Yeah. That was a wrong move. I was nervous that day. I was trying to give bad boy vibes," he explained.

"Mathew Matel, you may look like one, but you are the least bad boy person I know." I circled my arms around him and snuggled into his chest. "I still can't believe you sent me a signal. I'll have to do more research on Brain to Brain Interface."

"Brain to Brain Interface?" His head lifted.

"Don't worry. I'll send you a report. But I don't want to think about it right now."

"Still trying to find a logical explanation, I see. How about we just say the universe has aligned?" He pressed his lips to my forehead again. "And love is real."

"Okay," I nodded, feeling so good to just let go of the control.

Then he cupped my cheek and lifted my face to look at him. "I know you're going through more than you told me. I can tell."

Of course. My eyes were red and swollen, and it could not have just been because I dreamt of him.

"You don't have to process this alone, you know. You can talk to me." His words were firm. Reassuring but not pushing.

I stared at him, and we stayed frozen there for a long moment. I wanted to release everything then, but I was already exhausted.

"How long does it take to heal one's trauma?" I asked. My voice was soft. Afraid.

"It takes a while. But give it time," he said. "You will heal. Just give it time."

"Time," I repeated.

Then my eyes opened wide. It sparked an idea. My brain had just come up with something brilliant.

Though my reality had shifted, I was still me. The technical and clinical me who now believed in love and viewed things in a different light. I hadn't entirely lost my identity.

I wanted to push off Mathew, but I willed myself to stay there.

Not right now.

Instead of running out and going straight to my lab in the middle of the night to work, I simply said, "I think I know how to fix Dorothea now."

.

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