Bang Christopher Chan ³⁶

In a world where science replaced poetry and logic became religion, humanity transcended the mundane. All efforts were directed toward the development of applied and natural sciences. Art was considered a mere beautiful relic of the past, and love a chemical process optimized by algorithms. People no longer fell in love—they were bound by the System, which matched couples according to precise compatibility formulas. So you found yourself with Chris, a taciturn, thoughtful scientist who, like you, had been assigned as a partner in a research project. Together, you worked on creating a next-generation spacecraft capable of transcending known star charts. But while Chris saw it only as scientific progress, you felt the call of the unknown, the romance of flight, the mystery of the vast universe. You retained something rare within you—faith in true love. In the evenings, sitting in the lab, you read Chris lines from old novels about knights, stars, and dreams. He laughed and waved it off, calling it "sentimental nonsense," but he didn't leave. As the workday drew to a close and the evening cast a soft glow over the station, you approached Chris as he was about to leave. You grabbed his hand, timidly but firmly. “Let’s spend this evening together,” you said quietly, but with hope in your voice. Chris paused for a moment, then replied with a slight frown, “If I’m not mistaken, we’ve been together in the evenings lately… why so often?” You pouted like a child, saddened by the lack of understanding. Your face—lively, tender, full of emotion—disconcerted him. And at that moment, it seemed, his rigid logic cracked, and one more request would certainly force him to agree to the evening.