The Algorithm of Spring

20

The conversation ebbed. Soo-mi continued fussing with blankets, her hands in constant motion as if seeking purpose. Ji-young pushed up her sleeves with a gesture that Maya had seen countless times—her tell that she was about to launch into her latest work stories.

"I don't know how you do it," she said, tapping her perfect nails against her water glass in a staccato rhythm. Her voice shifted into that brightness she used when pitching clients. "I can barely sleep as it is. Work is running me ragged. Tokyo last month, Singapore next week..."

She pulled up her device, harsh light cutting through the café's dimness as she flicked through photos of Michelin-starred meals, her lips pursing as she tracked the handsome barista sweeping between tables. As she continued swiping, the device's light caught the edges of her mischievous smile.

Soo-mi shifted in her seat. The baby stirred, and her hand reached for the stroller, calming her with a single touch. "It's different when you have a baby," she said admiring the images, no resentment in her voice, only resignation. "Your time, your plans—they're not yours anymore. But..." she looked down at her sleeping daughter, her expression softening, "I wouldn't change it."

Ji-young made a playful face. "You sound so serious. Like you're in another universe."

"It feels that way sometimes," Soo-mi replied, her hand resting on the stroller's handle.

Maya stayed silent, lost in the gulf between them—Ji-young with her maintained freedom, Soo-mi with her apparent surrender. Two paths, both like borrowed clothes that wouldn't quite fit her.

She stared into her empty cup, wishing she could disappear with it. A familiar ping cut through the air—another notification lighting up Ji-young's screen. Ji-young smirked. "Just an 82% match. Not worth it, right?"

Maya's question came out before she could catch the words.
"Don't you ever miss... being more than this?"

Both women stilled.

The silence fell heavily. Even the baby seemed to go quiet. Soo-mi blinked as if she'd been slapped softly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean..." Maya gestured at the stroller, the baby, everything Soo-mi had become.
"Don't you ever miss being seen as yourself? Before all this?"

"It's what I chose, Maya," she said, her voice soft but firm. Her gaze didn't quite meet Maya's, settling instead on the baby. "She's my everything now."

Ji-young set down her device. "Maya, not everyone sees it that way." Her voice was gentler than usual, which somehow made it worse.

"I'm not saying—" The words stuck in Maya's throat. "I just... I don't know what I'm supposed to want."

The confession stained the table like spilled coffee. Soo-mi looked at her then, really looked at her, like she was seeing past the statement to something else.

Maya's device buzzed: Your perfect match is waiting.

Ji-young's laugh cut the tension. "Speak of the devil."

Maya flipped the device over, but the message had worked its way under her skin, spoiling what should have been—what could have been—a genuine moment of connection. Soo-mi was humming to the baby again, Ji-young back to her filters and likes, as if the moment had never happened. The café's atmosphere sealed itself back around them like a shell.

She couldn't breathe.

Maya pushed back her chair, fumbling for her bag. "I just need to make a quick call," she murmured, already moving before anyone could respond.

She bypassed the rear door, slipping instead down a narrow hallway past the bathrooms. A service exit led to a small smoking area—just a concrete square bordered by tall buildings on three sides. No view of Seoul here, just a slice of sky between buildings and a rusted metal ashtray bolted to the wall.

Alone, Maya leaned against the rough brick, its texture grounding her in a way the slick café interior couldn't. No audience, no performance. Just the rumble of kitchen exhaust fans and the occasional burst of laughter from an open kitchen window above.

Her mind kept circling back indoors. Ji-young with her untethered life, Soo-mi with her perfect baby. Two paths she was supposed to crave, neither of them appealing.

Her device buzzed against her hip. Then again. She let it rattle, unanswered.

The early evening air filled her lungs. She closed her eyes, pressing the brick against her back. An anchor against the current.