The Love Algorithm

Chapter 24:

Est stood outside William's door, knuckles raised mid-air. For five minutes.

He had already walked away twice.

But this time, he knocked.

When William opened the door, eyes puffy from sleep—or maybe something else—Est held up two mugs of hot chocolate.

"I... didn't forget the cinnamon," he said.

William stepped aside without a word. That was enough invitation.

They sat on opposite ends of the couch like strangers waiting for a ride share. Est tried to pretend this wasn't uncomfortable. That this wasn't his attempt at fixing something he couldn't name.

"I read this article about interpersonal drift," he said finally. "Apparently, it's when people—"

"Est," William cut in, gently. "Are you trying to talk to me like a robot right now?"

Est looked down into his mug. "Maybe."

William offered a tired smile. "Try again. This time like a person."

"I miss us," Est said, quickly, like ripping off a bandage. "I don't know how to fix what I messed up. But I'm trying."

William was quiet for a long moment. Then: "I know you're trying."

That should have been comforting. But the way he said it—tender, yet distant—made Est's stomach knot tighter.

Over the next few days, Est did all the things that weren't typically Est.

He left post-it notes with tiny drawings on William's desk.

He offered to cook (William politely declined).

He even initiated a hug. It lasted all of three seconds.

But nothing felt quite right. Like trying to sew up a wound with invisible thread.

They didn't fight.

They didn't fall back into rhythm either.

It was... quiet. Carefully polite. Like two people watching the same storm from different windows.

One night, Est sat alone on the apartment balcony. His laptop was open, a half-written line of code blinking in the silence.

"Statistically," he muttered, "we should be doing better than this."

The wind didn't answer.

Neither did William, who walked past him with a phone pressed to his ear, laughing at something someone else had said.

The distance hadn't disappeared.

It had just learned to wear nicer clothes.

But cracks were forming. Tiny, hairline fractures under the surface.

And it was only a matter of time before something—someone—shattered the illusion.

The first time Est heard Nut's name was in passing—one of those breezy Monday conversations between William and his team as they walked past the café where Est sometimes worked late.
"Nut pulled this insane save during the client call," someone had said.
"Nut's a machine with motion graphics."
"Nut makes the worst coffee, but damn if he isn't charming."

Est hadn't thought much of it then. Another name in William's ever-expanding orbit of people.

Until that Friday.

Santa had been the one to nudge William—again—about their weekly dinners.

"You've been ghosting us," he said over chat. "Come this time.  It'll be like old times."

William agreed. And he brought Nut.

Est wasn't sure what he expected. He only knew what he saw.

Nut was all effortless charisma. The kind of person who made jokes with the waiter, remembered everyone's drink orders, and somehow got Santa to laugh so hard he snorted iced tea through his nose.

And William? He was relaxed. Laughing freely. Shoulder bumping Nut as they mimicked a terrible client call. Their inside jokes flew fast, too fast for Est to keep up.

Est tried not to stare. He tried.

But then Nut leaned over and whispered something to William. William burst out laughing. Est's stomach coiled like a wire.

He barely touched his food.

William drank a little too much by dessert, as always. He was swaying slightly when the group stepped out into the cool night air.

Est instinctively moved to his side. "Come on. I'll drop you home."

Before William could reply, Nut cut in, smiling. "Actually, I didn't drink. And I live like five minutes from his place. I can take him."

William nodded lazily. "Yeah, that works."

Est blinked.

It shouldn't have mattered. It wasn't like he was entitled to it. But the casual way William agreed—like it was nothing—made something sharp twist in his chest.

He didn't argue. He just nodded once. "Okay."

But something in his voice made Santa glance at him sideways.

That night, Est didn't sleep. He sat on his bed, watching the blue cursor blink on a blank document.

They had never defined what they were. Never needed labels, Est told himself.

But watching William walk away, arm slung over Nut's shoulder, laughing at something only the two of them understood—it had carved a hollow space in his chest he hadn't expected.

In the following days, the distance between them wasn't dramatic.

It was quiet.

William still texted.
Still sent Est late-night photos of random office chaos.
Still left a sticky note once with "Your coffee's safe in the fridge. Like your heart. Probably."

But Est responded slower. Smiled less.

He found himself watching every time William spoke to Nut in the office cafeteria. Watched how their heads leaned close. How William always seemed alive around him in a way that made Est feel... gray.

It wasn't that Est didn't trust William.

It was that he never quite trusted himself to be enough.

William was warmth, ease, light.

Est was... complications. Quiet calculations and slow replies.

And now someone else was walking into William's life, fluent in the language Est struggled with.

And Est?
He was terrified that silence, once again, would be the reason he lost someone he loved.