The Love Algorithm

Chapter 11: A Knock at the Threshold

Saturday morning was exactly how William liked it.

The curtains were half-drawn, sunlight draped lazily across his living room floor. A half-watched nature documentary murmured from the TV. He was sprawled across the couch in a hoodie far too old and socks that didn't match — and didn't care.

He had successfully gone an entire 36 hours without opening that unsent draft to Est.
Progress.

He reached for his phone to order lunch when —

Knock knock.

William paused.
Weird.

He hadn't invited anyone. No scheduled deliveries. His parents never dropped by unannounced — his mother believed it was "rude to ambush a grown child."

The knock came again. More patient than urgent.

He groaned dramatically and rolled off the couch like gravity had a personal grudge against him.

The hallway felt extra long as he trudged to the door, rubbing one eye with the back of his hand.

When he finally swung the door open, still yawning —
he froze.

There, on his doorstep, stood Est.

Holding a paper bag.

William blinked. Once. Twice.

"...Are those my muffins?"

Est looked almost... guilty. "You mentioned the place near your station. I reverse-mapped your likely apartment radius using transit proximity and cross-referenced reviews of bakeries within your commute pattern. This one scored highest on—"

William laughed. He had to. "Oh my god. You profiled my pastry habits."

Est hesitated. "I brought raspberry swirl. You said those were your favorite."

William shook his head, grinning. "You remembered."

Est shifted. "May I come in?"

William stepped back automatically. "Yeah. Yeah, of course."

Est walked in like he was entering a crime scene. Cautious. Hands clutched around the paper bag like it was evidence.

"Make yourself comfortable," William said, kicking a hoodie off the armchair.

Est sat — perching stiffly on the edge of the couch like it might eject him.

William disappeared into the kitchen. "Coffee?"

"Yes. Please. Black."

As the kettle hissed and mugs clinked, Est took in the room.

There were shelves filled with half-read novels, a guitar propped against the wall, a cluttered desk in the corner with post-its and doodles. One corner had Polaroids stuck to the wall in a messy grid — William laughing with friends, hiking in the rain, arm-in-arm with someone wearing too many bracelets.

Est's eyes lingered. He had the strange, impolite urge to walk over. Study each frame up close. See the kind of life William lived when he wasn't breaking algorithms or throwing muffins at introverts.

But he didn't move.
You don't touch the artifacts of someone else's joy. Not without permission.

William returned, handing him the coffee. "Still like it black?"

Est took the mug. "Still."

They sat in silence for a few sips. Comfortable for William. Torturous for Est.

"So," William finally said, "to what do I owe the pleasure-slash-mild intrusion?"

Est looked down at the mug. "I wanted to speak with you. Outside of the lab."

William arched an eyebrow. "You picked today to become emotionally accessible?"

"I'm not being emotional," Est said, a bit too quickly.

William smiled into his mug. "Of course not."

Est took a breath. "I reviewed the new test results. They lack dimension. The system functions, but the outcomes feel... shallow. Your presence altered the dataset, yes — but it also enriched it."

William stared. "Wait. Are you saying I made the algorithm better?"

Est hesitated. "Unintentionally. Yes."

William let out a breath, somewhere between amused and exasperated. "God, you really suck at compliments."

"I'm asking you to come back. On Monday. Observer status, officially. Unofficially... I'd prefer it."

William's voice softened. "That why you brought the muffins?"

Est didn't answer.

Another quiet moment stretched between them — not heavy, just unfamiliar.

"Okay," William said finally. "I'll come back."

Est looked relieved. But awkward. Like he didn't quite know how to end the conversation or what to do with his hands.

So William rescued him. "You want to take one of those muffins for the road? Since you went full detective to get them."

"I would like that," Est said quietly.

Later, when Est left, the door clicked shut behind him with a strange sort of finality — not like an ending, but like closing a book you knew you'd pick up again soon.

William stood there for a beat, holding his half-drunk coffee, staring at the space where Est had been.

He smiled, faintly.
"Still weird," he said to no one. "Still mine, I think."

Est walked the sidewalk alone, the paper bag now lighter, the coffee buzz just setting in. His steps were measured, but his mind wasn't.

He replayed the conversation. Analyzed the silences. Noticed the twitch in William's smile when he said he'd come back.
It wasn't just data anymore.

It was hope.

And hope — he was beginning to realize — wasn't something you could model.

Just something you learned to live with.