The Love Algorithm

Chapter 19: After the Fall

"That's depressing."

They sat quietly for a moment.

Then, out of nowhere, Est spoke.

"My parents used to argue during lunch."

William froze, surprised.

"Every day," Est added. "Even during holidays. Especially during holidays."

He stared at his notebook, as if reading a memory scrawled between the lines.

"It got to a point where I preferred skipping meals."

William said nothing. Just waited.

Est eventually looked up.

"That's why I eat alone sometimes. Not because I dislike people. Just... quiet meals feel safer."

William nodded slowly. "I get that."

They didn't talk for the rest of lunch.

But when Est stood up, William grabbed his tray and walked with him.

Quietly.

No commentary. No jokes.

Just presence.

Friday arrived, bringing with it the first real team dinner since the offsite.

This time, William booked a cozy rooftop restaurant — fairy lights, wooden benches, a distant view of the skyline. The kind of place where conversations melted into laughter and worries felt smaller.

Everyone showed up.

Est arrived five minutes early.

William blinked when he saw him at the table, already seated, awkwardly holding the menu like it might self-destruct.

"Hey," William said, sliding into the seat beside him.

"This is loud."

"It's dinner. Not a machine-learning conference."

"Same decibel level, less accuracy."

William grinned.

As the dinner unfolded, jokes flew, drinks flowed, and stories from the field resurfaced.

Someone eventually turned to Est and said, "You've been so quiet all night. You're like a mysterious NPC in a dating sim."

The whole table laughed.

Est blinked.

William leaned closer and stage-whispered, "Don't explain what an NPC is. Let the mystery live."

Then it happened.

When someone teased William about his karaoke performance — something about how he'd dramatically pointed at Est during the high note — Est smiled.

Not a twitch. Not a polite half-smile.

A real, full smile. Subtle but steady. Lingering for longer than anyone had a right to expect.

No one else noticed.

But William did.

And he almost choked on his drink.

He looked away fast, cheeks warming, heart embarrassingly giddy.

I saw that. And it was beautiful.

Later that night, the team spilled into a karaoke bar again.

Est tried to escape. William intercepted him.

"One song," he said.

"I'll watch."

"You'll regret that when I start singing Coldplay."

"I already regret existing in this bar."

Despite the protest, Est stayed.

He sat beside William the whole time, sipping on soda and watching the chaos unfold.

Halfway through, William leaned in and whispered,

"You don't have to sing. But thank you for coming."

Est just nodded.

That was enough.

As the night ended, William reached for his bag — and stopped.

"Crap. Left my phone charger at the office."

He sighed, rubbing his temple. "I should've just booked a place nearby."

Est hesitated for a moment.

Then:

"You can stay over again."

William blinked. "Really?"

"Statistically speaking, you fall less when near familiar objects. My apartment now qualifies."

William laughed — startled, grateful, maybe a little flustered.

"Thanks, Est."

"Try not to faceplant on the carpet this time."

That night, as they walked up to Est's apartment again, something felt different.

Less awkward.

More... earned.

William settled on the couch while Est brought out a blanket and a spare pillow. Before turning to leave, he paused.

"I meant what I said," William added.

Est tilted his head.

"About your smile. I saw it. You should use it more often."

Est said nothing for a long time.

Then quietly, almost too softly to hear:

"I don't smile when I'm happy. I smile when I feel safe."

Their eyes locked.

No jokes this time. No analogies or statistics.

Just silence.

And in that silence, something bloomed.

The weekend stretched ahead.

They would spend Saturday in their own rhythm — coffee, coding, occasional jokes, shared playlists.

And maybe — just maybe — they'd begin something neither algorithm nor logic could fully explain.

Something called trust.

Something very close to love.