(Kimberly's POV)
I was 16 when I fully understood that love wasn't a choice in my world.
It was the day of the Matching Broadcast, an event that turned the city into a ghost town. People abandoned their routines, their work, their lives, just to watch the government's message.
The voice of the announcer was classy, rehearsed, and void of emotion. It echoed through the speakers in our home, through the city streets, and from the massive digital billboards looming over the skyline. The government wanted no one to forget the rules, the rules that decided who lived and who vanished.
Patricia and I sat cross-legged on our bedroom floor, eyes locked on the screen. We didn't speak. We were told to not speak during the broadcast. You didn't interrupt the government when it spoke; especially not on a day like this.
The screen flickered, and soft, ambient music played as footage of couples undergoing the sacred ritual filled the display. Their hands clasped, their bodies enveloped in glowing light. Then came the transformation. Male to female. Female to male. Perfect symmetry. Perfect pairs.
The camera cut to smiling faces, happy interviews. "We feel so connected now." "I understand him better." "We're more in sync." "We better understand each other now after living life as each other."
> "This ritual fosters empathy," the announcer said, "strengthens partnerships, and ensures harmony. It is the foundation of our thriving society."
Patricia snorted softly. "They always show the same five couples."
I glanced at her. "It's supposed to make people feel safe."
She rolled her eyes. "It makes me feel like throwing up."
I laughed covering my mouth. "Well, they say it's the path to a better future."
"Yeah? What about the ones who regret it?" Patricia's voice suddenly sounded serious. "The ones who come back worse than before?"
I didn't respond. Because we both knew the truth.
No one ever talked about the couples who failed—those who swapped, tried, and couldn't make it work. Those re-tested, deemed incompatible, and thrown aside. The outcasts. The forgotten.
We had a term for them: "the unmade."
Even their children carried the burden. Their lives, hard and limited, stuck in the lower ranks of society until someone in their bloodline scored a high enough match to lift them out. That's why most people didn't marry for love. They married to escape.
<"Only those with a match score between 70% and 100% may undergo the sacred ritual…">
I tuned back in just in time to hear the reminder. I mouthed along with the next part.
> "Those who fail to match by the age of twenty-seven…"
I held my breath. Patricia's hand slipped into mine, warm and trembling.
> "…will be eliminated."
The camera cut to the city square, live footage.
A man was being dragged forward by two guards, his feet scraping the ground. His name flashed on the screen. Elias Hart. Age: 27. Match status: Unmatched.
The murmurs in the crowd were low but obviously filled with fear and sympathy. People parted like waves, heads down, not daring to meet his eyes. Some whispered prayers to the system, others looked away entirely.
The screen zoomed in.
He didn't struggle. They never did. They always accepted their fate.
A high-pitched hum filled the square. Light surrounded him. Next we heard his screams and then he was gone.
No body. No blood. Just… gone.
< "Through compatibility, we prevent disorder and the failures of the past. The system is fair. The system is absolute.">
"Fair?" I whispered, barely audible.
Patricia turned to me. Her green eyes were wide, scared in a way I'd never seen before. "What if we don't find a match?"
I tried to smile. I had to. She needed me to.
"We will," I said. Because what else could I say?
A year later, I was seventeen. And I couldn't forget Elias Hart's face. Or how quiet the square had been after he vanished.
The fear never left. Not even as we turned twenty-two and sat together in the testing center for our first compatibility score. We were full of hope then.
> Kimberly Dawson: 60%
Patricia Hayes: 62%<
It was too low.
At twenty-four, we tried again.
> Kimberly: 65%
Patricia: 64%<
Still not enough.
At twenty-five, again.
> Kimberly: 68%
Patricia: 69%<
So close. But still a death sentence.
And now… age twenty-six. This was it. Our last chance.
We sat in our living room, the quiet sound of the refrigerator the only sound. The digital clock on the wall flicked forward. 8:32 AM. The results would arrive any moment.
"I hate this waiting part," Patricia muttered, twisting her fingers together. "Feels like I'm about to explode."
I didn't respond. My eyes were locked on the number glowing faintly on my wrist: 26.10.04. A countdown. Since I was sixteen, that number had ticked down every single day. On my twenty-seventh birthday, it would hit zero.
A knock broke the silence. Patricia jumped up and raced to the door.
"Compatibility results for Miss Kimberly Dawson and Miss Patricia Hayes," the delivery officer said.
"That's us," she said quickly, signing the digital form and shutting the door behind her.
She excitedly waved two golden envelopes in the air as she came closer. Then she placed them gently on the center table. We stared at them like they were bombs.
Patricia's voice was shaky but hopeful. "Kim, this is it. We've been increasing. Each time we've gotten closer. This time… this time we'll get it."
"What if we don't?"
She looked at me like I had said something wrong. "Hey don't say that. Even if we don't then we try again."
"There is no 'again,'" I whispered. "Our birthdays are two months away. Five days apart. You know what that means."
Her smile cracked for a second. Then she forced it back. "Then we match. Simple."
I reached forward slowly and picked up my envelope.
She did the same.
We sat side by side, fingers trembling on the edge of fate.
"I'm not ready," I said.
"Me neither," she replied. "But we have to know."
We exchanged a look, one full of history, love, fear, and everything we had been through together as orphans.
This time, we had to. We were going to open the envelopes, get a 70% match and above, survive and still remain life long friends. That's all we wanted.