i haven’t told him.
that’s the sentence.
i haven’t told him i’m going to together at last.
which is almost funny, considering he is too.
we both signed up.
separately.
coincidentally.
cosmically, if you ask him.
he says he’s going “to meet interesting people.”
to expand his circle.
to see what the universe brings.
like it’s a retreat.
like it’s a networking event.
it’s not a networking event.
it’s not a friend-making workshop.
it’s an algorithm deciding who you marry.
i don’t know if he actually believes what he’s saying.
or if we’re both pretending not to understand the premise.
i haven’t told him i’m afraid of watching him date other people.
i haven’t told him i don’t know what we’re allowed to feel about that.
i haven’t told him that the idea of him being “cosmically aligned” with someone else makes something sharp move under my ribs.
because what would that imply?
we’re not exclusive.
we’re not defined.
we’re not anything that comes with clauses.
he talks about alignment.
i nod.
i do not mention that i’ll be in the same physical space as him while an institution assigns us spouses.
that feels like a detail.
it’s not lying.
it’s just…
withholding the part where i imagine seeing him across a white room, laughing with someone who isn’t me.
it’s just not clarifying that if the algorithm pairs him with someone else, i will have to stand there and look happy for him.
does he really need to know i'll be there?
maybe i’m keeping quiet because if i say it out loud, he’ll ask what i want to happen.
and i don’t know.
i don’t know if i want him to choose me.
i don’t know if i want the algorithm to.
i don’t know which one would hurt more.
it’s just february.
it’s just a program.
it’s just forty people in white pretending they’re not auditioning for permanence.
it’s not betrayal.
right?