It’s a pity that things like true love and soulmates and finding that special someone aren’t more obvious in their identification and verifying - would be so much easier if there were a special personal sort of dim glow or subtle sound or faint scent or somesuch to point out the one we’re destined to be with the rest of our lives. Far less troublesome or confusing than all this dragging-on about dating and courtship and marriage and divorce and all that other rubbish - just spot someone across the room or street or whatever, the signals match up, and happyjoy forever. Sounds good to me, anyway. Would save tons of folks so much pain and heartbreak and jealousy and such when they found that the one they thought was “the one” turned out not to be, not for them anyway… this way, it’s clear - no signal-match, no true love. It would kinda ruin all the slow building-up of the drama and tension in all those romantic films, however… Ah well. Nothing’s perfect, I guess.
(#00459 - A084)
They called it TruHartz and it swept the world so thoroughly that it overtook the whole planet in a whirlwind.
A subcutaneous chip, installed in the nape of the neck, would record the likes and dislikes of its host and, thanks to nanotechnology growing in close to the skull plates, manifest a holographic heart in the air when the user was within fifty feet of their true love.
Upgrades included helpful arrows.
Those cost extra.
Society adjusted, of course, to various people stopping the flow of traffic to meet with the person who was going to be the love of their life.
It never stopped casual sex. Nothing in the world could stop casual sex. In fact, it multiplied it. Thousands were desperate to have their wild fling before settling down with that special someone.
Or someones.
The news that there could be plural true loves was the death knell of the conservative movement. And the scandal rags. Which also made the world a better place.
And it disrupted all the pedophiles when they discovered that their TruHartz completely failed to lead them to any minors. They either had to re-define what love meant to them - or reach heady new heights of denial in the face of evidence to the contrary.
And there were few, a rare and almost shunned few, who elected not to get their TruHartz installed. Like Remi.
She saw no point to it. She felt she had little to offer any partner, since she saw no point in relationships, romance, or sex. Friendship was just fine for her.
Which worked right up until she met Kev.
The first Remi knew about it was the gaudy holographic heart jumping up and down in the air at her like an excited puppy. Doing the heart equivalent of the international pee-pee dance. With arrows and little ‘doot doot’ noises.
“I am so sorry,” apologised a voice like chocolate presented in velvet.
She was dressed plainly in comfortable clothes and had her hair done up in that style Remi always called I don’t give a shit. She was also blushing up a storm.
“My mom made me have the damn thing installed on me, and…” a sigh as she joined Remi at her table. The holographic heart ceased its infernal dooting in a shower of twinkling, smaller hearts. “I was kind of hoping this would never happen. Prove her wrong.”
“I never had mine installed,” said Remi. “Seemed like too much expense for something that only works once.”
“I’m Kev,” said Kev. “Short for Kevrannah. But I always thought that was pretentious.”
“Remi,” said Remi.
They shook hands. It would have been nice to say that there were sparks, that something tugged at heart-strings and made beautiful music, but love doesn’t always work that way.
It took them both five weeks to realise that they were, in fact, soul mates. Even though love meant very little to either of them. There was no hand-holding. No flowers. No dating.
Just serial hanging-out and companionable leanings. And that was enough. And mutual understanding. That was more than enough.
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