[ WP ] Tinder becomes a giant corporation and essentially a government institution worldwide . Everyone gets an obligatory implant that automatically notifies matches you come across or walk by .

*Bing* 
 
 
 The interface places a green outline around a tall woman with chocolate skin and bright red lipstick. I smile at her, pretending that I am ignoring the stats that scroll to the left of her wonderfully frizzy hair. 
 
 
 We are compatible, at least in the eyes of the programming from our Tinder chip implants which, to be fair, was usually pretty accurate. It managed to gather data about your personality, health, and socio-economic status in addition to information provided by an interests and life goals quiz which requires yearly updating as long as one remains single. 
 
 
 She looks back and makes no effort to hide her judgement when she comes upon my family history. 
 
 
 The green outline becomes red and she walks away. Rejection is just that simple now. No contact needed. You enter a bar and immediately know who is worth your time and who isn ’ t. Which is bad news for people like me. 
 
 
 *Bing* 
 
 
 Another green outline. 
 
 
 It changes red and she walks away, pace hastening as if I were planning to chase after her or something. You aren ’ t that remarkable, sweet cheeks. 
 
 
 *Bing* 
 
 
 I turn off the damned sound and don ’ t even bother looking at her information. As a person who doesn ’ t go out often, I forget how annoying that noise can get. 
 
 
 It changes red and I sigh, strolling into the bakery and stepping into the line. I can smell the heat of the oven despite the overwhelming scent of bread. It ’ s subtle but I like it a lot. My chip senses the stimulation and adds something into my profile. Great, I guess if I meet another lover of delicious scents I can frighten her off as well. 
 
 
 Much to my disdain, a green line forms around the young woman at the counter. She should have put her interface into work mode, it would prevent awkward encounters like this. It stays green as I approach, pretending I haven ’ t noticed while gazing over the menu. 
 
 
 “ What can I get for you? ” 
 
 
 Her voice, soft but still upbeat, captures my attention and I make eye contact with her. Blue eyes, my favorite. Not that I ’ d turn someone away for anything different. I ’ ve just always been a sucker for big blue eyes. 
 
 
 The line is still green and she is smiling. Maybe she hasn ’ t read yet. 
 
 
 “ Oh, just a tomato and mozzarella panini, please, ” I reply as I pretend to look for my wallet, hand squirming around foolishly in my pocket. 
 
 
 “ I have a lunch break in a few minutes, could I join you? ” 
 
 
 “ Really? ” 
 
 
 My eyes are narrowed, brows pulled down in a combination of confusion and suspicion. 
 
 
 “ Yeah, we have so much in common. Plus, we are both reading Martian. The movie was great but I am loving the book. We could talk about it or something, ” she shrugs, rosey cheeks still round and tensed from her warm smile. 
 
 
 She has to have read it. My current book is listed far below that damning piece of information. 
 
 
 “ Oh, that would be great, ” I reply, trying to relax as I place my card on the counter. 
 
 
 Once I pay and take a seat, waiting for my food, I realize that I ’ ve not yet read her stats. My gaze returns and I activate the list, allowing it to be pulled away from her figure and into the center of my table. A line of red text appears under the “ health ” heading. 
 
 
 Cancer? She has cancer. 
 
 
 She doesn ’ t want kids, which is good for me, and we have a remarkable amount of similar interests. Even our travel bucket list is nearly identical. Maybe the cancer wasn ’ t that bad. 
 
 
 “ By the look on your face I assume you read, ” she hums, placing my plate down and sliding to the seat across from me. 
 
 
 “ Yes. Did you read, I mean -- Most people don ’ t really like what they see. My father and all. ” 
 
 
 “ I did see that. But, having a madman for a father hardly says anything about you. ” 
 
 
 “ You realize he killed seven people. He ate them. ” 
 
 
 “ Shh, don ’ t ruin your lunch. So, what chapter are you on? ” 
 
 
 We talk for an hour about books and life and death, goals and what we want to make of ourselves. After her break ends we exchange information and I go home, smiling as my interface registers my planned date and ceases to advertize me to those who pass by. 
 
 
 We fall in love on the second date. It wasn ’ t anything more than a small dinner in my less than dazzling apartment, but she was amazing. We were amazing. 
 
 
 Her cancer is terminal. After years of treatment she was given five to ten years and wanted someone to spend it with. Someone who makes her feel alive. 
 
 
 Apparently I make her feel alive. 
 
 
 We date for a few months before she asks me to marry her. She tells me that I am like the much needed bookend on her half-full book shelf. Even though she ’ d never have a full collection, I was there to told her up -- fill the empty space. 
 
 
 I know that I will lose her in the end, but, for once in my life I feel free of judgement. I feel like I have escaped the thing that has kept me pegged as “ unsuitable ” for the majority of my life. I am just me, living with her. Until the bitter end. 
 
 

