The Algorithm of Spring

19

Maya remembered Jun-ho's intense suspicion of the app—his paranoid theories about government surveillance and control. She'd been dismissing them as excessive, but now, watching Ji-young's unquestioning embrace of the technology, she wondered if the truth lay somewhere between their perspectives—neither complete paranoia nor blind acceptance based on convenience.

She wished she could borrow even a fraction of Ji-young's breezy indifference. But something tugged at her core—was Ji-young even aware of how much the app shaped her? That hardly seemed likely. Or were Maya and Jun-ho refusing to evolve with the times?

A shadow crossed their table. An older woman paused nearby, her eyes softening at the baby. "Oh, how beautiful," she murmured, as though seeing a child this perfect was a blessing in itself.

Soo-mi straightened, smoothing the baby's hair. "Thank you," she said, bowing her head.

The woman smiled warmly. "She looks healthy—like a good eater. You're doing a wonderful job. It's difficult, but you're strong."

Soo-mi flushed, murmuring polite thanks as the woman patted her shoulder and moved on. Ji-young sighed dramatically. "See? Even strangers can tell. You were born to this—it just suits you."

Maya's cup pressed against her palm. Born to do this. The phrase hung in the air, a perfect caption for a perfect moment.

She lingered, fixated on the baby. "Would you mind?" she asked softly, gesturing to her device. "My daughter is expecting her first..." Soo-mi nodded, adjusting the blanket, and the woman took a single photo before bowing her thanks.

Maya watched it happen like a wave. The café's coolness dissolving. Screens lowering, conversations softening. A couple exchanged occasional glances. A woman nudged her partner's arm, all eyes drawn to the sleeping baby in their corner.

Something about their attention made Maya's skin prickle.

The baby made a soft sound, twisting in Soo-mi's arms. Then Soo-mi looked at Maya directly for the first time since she'd arrived. "Here," she said, leaning forward. "Take her."

"Oh, I don't—"

"She won't bite," Soo-mi said, already moving. "She likes new people."

Before Maya could back away, the baby was in her arms. The weight caught her off guard—surprisingly solid and warm, heavier than she'd expected. Her hands hovered, uncertain.

The baby stirred, staring up at her with dark eyes that seemed wiser than they should be. Completely unafraid.

"See?" Soo-mi's voice softened. "She knows you're family."

Maya tried to smile but couldn't manage it. The baby's fingers found her wrist, tiny and searching. Something deep and old shifted—not breaking, but loosening.

Her mother's kitchen. Steam rising from the miyeok-guk. Her mother's back as she ladled it into bowls, both of them pretending the silence wasn't full of words they couldn't say.

You're strong.

The café walls blurred. Was this what she was supposed to want? This thing that made Soo-mi glow, that made strangers stop and stare?

"Unni?" Soo-mi touched her arm, speaking softly. "Relax your arms. She can feel when you're tense."

Ji-young's device was already at eye-level. "God, Maya, your face. Don't worry—maternal instinct kicks in, eventually."

Maya barely heard her. The baby was warm, solid against her chest, real in a way that made everything else around them feel like pretence. When Soo-mi lifted her away, Maya's arms remained suspended for a moment, forgetting themselves. Her palms were damp—as if she'd lost something she never truly had.

"See?" Ji-young said, scrolling through her photos. "You're a natural. Just need some practice."

Maya smiled as expected, but her arms remained leaden. Through the window, she could see people walking past, laughing, living their carefree lives. Her distance from them had never seemed greater.