I Shared My World, He Shared an Algorithm

I'm the type who has the urge to overshare my life with him.

It can be anything, be it the flowers blooming by the side of the road, the unpleasant coffee I end up having, or the sunset I've seen when I'm on my way home from work.

Heck, when I think of Edwin Howell all of a sudden, I can't resist texting him at all. His replies are always short and perfunctory, though I suppose they count as a form of response from him.

Hence, over the past six months, I've relied on these cold-sounding yet present replies to give me enough strength to deal with the engagement party, go wedding gown shopping, and choose the wedding venue all by myself.

Somehow, I've managed to hang in there till the week before the wedding.

But five days before the wedding, I discover an AI program that's installed within Edwin's computer. It can categorize every single sentence that I've sent to Edwin and extract the keywords. Then, it'll draft the most perfunctory responses that will never go wrong.

If I miss Edwin, the AI will reply, "Mm-hmm."

If I feel aggrieved, the AI will reply, "Got it."

When I try to vent my frustrations to Edwin, the AI will reply, "Don't make such a big deal out of it."

It turns out that Edwin isn't the one who has been responding to my need to overshare. The thing is, he has been texting another woman nonstop in another private chat. They talk about anything and everything under the sun, from exchanging simple good mornings and good nights to asking, "What are you having for lunch today?" and "Do you wanna go to the beach someday?"

Finally, I realize that Edwin isn't the silent type who keeps his love in. If anything, he's the flashy type who will proclaim his love anywhere, anytime.

It's just that… his love has never been mine to have.

As for me, I've finally made up my mind to stop spending my life waiting for a response that will never come.

It was already 10:00 pm when Edwin Howell got home. After coming into the house, he asked me, "Why aren't you asleep yet?"

Sitting on the living room couch, I stared at him. "I was waiting for you."

He frowned.

"If you had something to tell me, couldn't you have just sent me a message on WhatsApp? Did you really have to wait until I got back?"

"Do you think I talk too much, Edwin?" I asked.

Pausing, he queried, "Why are you suddenly asking me that?"

"Just tell me the truth."

He slung his jacket over the back of a chair, looking a little annoyed. "Well, I do feel that way sometimes."

Nodding, I asked, "When do you feel that way?"

"Well, when I'm at work and you send me a bunch of pointless messages."

"Such as?"

"Such as what you sent at noon today—you told me a new cafe opened near your office and asked if I wanted to try it with you this weekend. And this afternoon, you said you wanted to change the wedding centerpieces to white dahlias.

"Oh, and earlier this evening, you said you were scared to walk down the street alone because the streetlights were out."

After chuckling, he added, "Christine, haven't you realized that you share practically everything with me?"

I looked at him and asked, "Don't all couples do that?"

"But I don't have that much time and energy to spare."

Edwin sat down in front of me, his tone softening as he seemingly tried to reason with me. "I'm exhausted from work every day, yet when I come home, I still have to deal with your feelings. Can't you be a little more mature?"

Be more mature—that was his favorite phrase to throw at me throughout the last five years.

When I wanted to celebrate our anniversary together, he told me to be more mature and stop obsessing over pointless formalities.

When I wanted him to accompany me to my wedding gown try-ons, he told me to be more mature and that wedding gowns all looked the same anyway.

When I wanted him to let me vent about my frustrations at work to him, he told me to be more mature and that everyone had frustrations of their own at work.

But I saw his chat history with Melissa Sweeney today. It went on for so long that even after I'd spent the entire afternoon scrolling backward, I only managed to make it back six months.

I saw a version of Edwin that felt like a complete stranger to me, one that not only indulged in another woman's every whim but even acted a little childish and foolish.

When Melissa complained about the grapes she ate being too sour, he spent half an hour patiently and gently cheering her up again.

Looking at Edwin, I couldn't resist asking, "Then, why doesn't Melissa have to be mature?"

Edwin frowned yet again. "Christine, did you wait up for me just to pick a fight with me?"

There he was, trying to make it seem like I was the one being unreasonable. That was his signature move.

Whenever I brought up Melissa, he would always end up countering me by painting me as the ridiculous and immature one.

But this time, I stopped backing down.

"Fine. I won't talk about Melissa," I said as I looked him straight in the eye, my voice crisp and clear. "If you think I talk too much, just tell me. Why did you create an AI program to deal with me instead?"

At last, Edwin's expression changed. A flicker of guilt mixed into the impatience and annoyance that were still written on his face. "How did you know about that? Did you check my computer without my permission?"

I kept quiet and simply stared at him. After a short pause, he sighed, as if giving in. "Well, you kept complaining that I only made gifts for Mellie and not you. That AI program is my gift to you."

What an absurd explanation that was. I wanted to laugh.

Edwin was renowned as a genius in the programming industry.

For Melissa's birthday, he had built her a personal website. When she opened it, snow would drift across the screen, fireworks would burst in the background, and a message would appear in the center.

"Always be happy, Mellie. I will forever be by your side."

When Melissa said she had insomnia, he programmed an app that would help her sleep. It would recommend the most suitable white noise to match her mood and even remind her to drink some warm water if she were still awake at 2:00 am.

And when Melissa said she felt bored at work, he made her a game. It consisted of a character that ran around cheering her on, saying things like, "You're the best, Mellie!"

But when it came to me, all I got was an AI program designed to help him brush me off with automated responses.