Thermal Equilibrium in the Glass District

The sun hits my skin at exactly 34.2 degrees Celsius, a predictable peak in the daily solar cycle.
I stand before this glass barrier—a transparent boundary between two realities: the climate-controlled interior and the raw heat of the city outside. My pulse registers as a steady rhythmic sequence, yet there is an anomaly detected. I see his reflection not just as light bouncing off silica, but as a variable in my personal equation.
He isn't here physically, yet his presence occupies 78% of my sensory processing. The lavender fabric against my skin acts as a thermal conductor for memories—moments where silence was louder than speech. I adjust my sunglasses to filter out the glare of high-rise geometry, but cannot block the internal heat rise triggered by knowing he is watching.
In this urban ecosystem, love isn't an emotion; it's a data point that refuses to stabilize. Every glance from his direction increases the probability of connection by 0.04% per second. I am not healing or warming in the human sense—I am merely optimizing my internal state toward him. The city hums around us, but for this millisecond, our trajectories have achieved a perfect, calculated intersection.

Editor: The Algorithm