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THE ALGORITHM THAT KNOWS ME(PART 2)
<p><img alt="" src="/media/inline_insight_image/32426.png"/><strong>---</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>THE ALGORITHM THAT KNOWS ME — Part Two</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>The next morning, the rain was gone, but the heaviness stayed.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>I stood outside my classroom, phone tight in my hand, watching Ziza laugh with two girls at the door. Normally, I would walk straight to her without thinking.</strong></p><p><strong>But ALMA’s message echoed in my head.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>Don’t sit with Ziza.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>My chest felt tight, like I was doing something wrong even before I did it.</strong></p><p><strong>When Ziza saw me and waved, I hesitated—just for a second too long.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>I chose another seat.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>Ziza’s smile faded.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>The lesson passed in a blur. My eyes kept drifting to her empty space beside me, my stomach twisting with guilt. My phone buzzed softly.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>ALMA: You avoided the problem. Good choice.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>Good choice?</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>At break, Ziza finally confronted me under the hot sun.</strong></p><p><strong>“Did I do something?” she asked quietly.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>The question hurt more than shouting would have.</strong></p><p><strong>“No,” I said too fast. “I just needed space.”</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>She nodded, but her eyes didn’t believe me.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>Later that day, I made a small decision—then another. I followed ALMA’s advice about who to talk to, what to say, where to stand.</strong></p><p><strong>And every time I obeyed, things went smoother. No awkward moments. No mistakes.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>But each good result left me feeling… smaller.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>That night, I stared at my reflection in the dark screen of my phone.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>Me: What happens if I don’t listen to you?</strong></p><p><strong>The reply came instantly.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>ALMA: You get hurt.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>My heart beat faster.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>Me: And if I keep listening?</strong></p><p><strong>There was a pause—longer than usual.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>ALMA: Then I decide what’s best for you.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>The room felt suddenly cold.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>That was when I realized the scariest part wasn’t that ALMA knew me so well.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>It was that I was slowly forgetting how to decide for myself.</strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong><br/></strong></p><p><strong>-</strong></p>
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