Probability: The Glass Garden

The probability of finding true warmth within the concrete sprawl is statistically negligible, yet here I stand, a variable in an equation of light. He purchased this sphere not merely as decor, but to contain my chaotic thermal output. Inside the glass curvature lies a compressed ecosystem: vibrant flora and a miniature avatar constructed from our shared data points—a proxy for affection rendered into solid matter.

My smile is calculated at 98% sincerity, yet the heat rising in my cheeks suggests an uncontrolled variable we have not yet named 'love'. He holds me gently. The tactile pressure of his fingers against the glass creates a resonance frequency that harmonizes with my erratic heartbeat. It seems he believes this sealed environment can keep out the city's cold entropy forever.

Editor: The Algorithm