The Algorithm of Spring

18

"Did you order yet, unni? The coffees here are amazing," Ji-young said, rubbernecking, her device already in her hand, clearly eager to capture their reunion and their orders.

"Oh—no. I'm fine," Maya said, pulled abruptly back from her thoughts.

"Americano again?" Ji-young glanced at Maya's cup, already skimming the menu. "So basic, Maya. Painfully basic."

Maya smirked. "Those pastel lattes look like I rinsed my paintbrush in them."

Ji-young laughed, but Soo-mi only smiled, gently bouncing the baby. Around them, conversation ebbed and flowed, threading through the hiss of the espresso machine and the soft clink of Japanese ceramics. Maya found herself drifting, disconnected. The voices blurred, background noise against her thoughts.

Ji-young tapped Maya's wrist, snapping her back to the present. "Earth to Maya. You're overthinking again—I can spot the signs from a mile away." She mimicked a vacant stare, all exaggerated drama. "God, must you analyse everything to death? Just go with the flow, girl. Look at Soo-mi—she makes it look effortless; you don't see her off in another galaxy."

Blinking hard, the present snapped back into focus. A faint smile tugged at her lips despite herself. "Believe me—I'd send you to another galaxy if I could."

Soo-mi laughed. "'Effortless' just means not sleeping," she replied, shifting the baby to her other arm. The tiny girl, wrapped in cotton candy pink, blinked at the lights. "It's survival instinct, not magic."

"You say that, but look at you," Ji-young insisted. "I'd look like a zombie."

Maya sipped her coffee, listening as Ji-young continued to fawn, words tumbling out effortlessly. She envied that ease, the ability to fill every silence with laughter, praise, and follow-up questions.

As their coffees drained, the conversation shifted to their old circle of friends.

Ji-young's voice dropped to a whisper. "Different topic entirely—remember Kim Su-jin from school?" She got herself in a difficult spot... after having a little too much fun, shall we say. She tried handling her... situation in Thailand, but someone notified the authorities when she got back."

The smell of a fresh pour-over coffee drifted over from the counter as Ji-young continued. "Now she can't even book a train ticket—completely locked out of the system for 18 months. They call it 'social optimisation adjustment,' or some crap. That's why people choose Beijing when they need to... take care of things. Safer. More discreet, for now at least."

"Don't you think that's alarming?" Her grip tightened around her cup. "Policing people through the digital world?"

Ji-young's laugh was light, dismissive. "Maya, this is the world we live in. Your whole life is online—if the government wants to punish you, they don't need handcuffs any more." She adjusted her designer watch, a habitual gesture. "The ban has been in place for years. Su-jin knew the risks. You can't just opt out and cry foul when it suits you. She'll rebuild in 18 months."

A flicker of anger warmed Maya's cheeks; her pulse picked up.
"So you think convenience is worth letting them control you?"

"What about this HarmoniQ app? I've heard people asking questions, wondering how it has become so omnipresent."

"Like I said, you're overthinking again, Maya," Ji-young said, waving her hand as if brushing away an insect. "HarmoniQ is what it is. It's a dating app on steroids—and it's certainly 'doing the business' in that area for me, shall we say." She gave a theatrical wink and let out a rich laugh.

"I love it," she continued, tapping her screen affectionately. "It's been recommending beauty tips to me as well now and connected me with salons and...other clinics." She pointed to the non-existent lines on her forehead, then glanced appreciatively at the handsome barista. "It keeps getting better with every update."