**Ian**

Ian stood in the center of his one-bedroom apartment and stared at a giant corkboard hanging on the white wall over his dinette table. Filled with written inspirations and ideas, the corkboard contained everything from lines of code scribbled on scraps of paper to images of future hiking destinations. Focusing his attention on the center of the display where a Robin Williams' Mork from Ork quote was pinned, Ian read, 'I don't know how much value I have in this universe, but I do know that I've made a few people happier than they would have been without me, and as long as I know that, I'm as rich as I ever need to be.'

With hands on hips, Ian whispered, "How can we make people feel that richness with fictional stories?" Staring at some scribbled code, he pondered ways to get the right stories to the people who needed to read them most. Is Mouth right, he thought. Maybe separated communities on Wattpad would solve things. Because how in the hell do we make a site welcoming to Baby Boomers and Millennials--or relevant to Generation X and Generation Z? And that's just age variables. If you consider things like--.

A doorbell rang disrupting Ian's thoughts. He opened the door to find several bags of groceries dropped off by a local delivery service. Within minutes, he put the food items away and was back in front of his corkboard--searching for answers to questions he hadn't fully clarified in his mind. As the weather channel played on the TV in the background, a string of atmospheric percentages and probabilities influenced his subconscious. Ian was positive the answers he searched for could be computed. If OKCupid could produce the data to calculate love and happiness, surely he could find the statistical keys to revolutionize storytelling.

Frustrated by his inability to manifest a solution, Ian glanced around his minimalist living room, the décor slightly more personalized than a nice hotel room. As he scanned, his eyes came to a halt on his three roommates--Plant 1.0, Plant 2.0 and Plant 3.0. Drooped over in a most pathetic way, the vegetation appeared both hungover and desperately in need of a refreshing beverage.

Although he was as loyal and caring as any man could possibly be, the three plants were the only living things Ian had ever personally been responsible for--besides himself. A lifelong commitment to another person scared him. Bonded relationships of compromise and mutual investment for survival were outside his calculable comprehension. Another soul came with too many variables and uncertainties beyond Ian's control, and the unknowing nature of it all unsettled him.

Ian filled a pitcher with water in the kitchen, then proceeded towards Plant 1.0 located on a stand where the giant TV sat. As he moistened 1.0's soil, he scanned his collection of books and movies housed in an adjacent bookcase. Blade Runner. War of the Worlds. Indiana Jones. Metropolis. The Matrix. Planet of the Apes. Avatar. 2001: A Space Odyssey. The Dark Knight. Goonies. Spaceballs.

The world has always been influenced by fictional stories, Ian thought. A confusing mixture of enlightenment and disappointment bubbled up inside him. What are you innovating, exactly? Silence greeted his question.

Plant 2.0 was perched on a shelf across the room alongside mind games and brain teasers. Rubrics Cubes. Tangrams. Interlocking wooden block puzzles. Despite their varying levels of irritation and complexity, all were solvable. They were a physical representation of how Ian perceived the world--a collection of decipherable riddles containing hidden answers for the person diligent enough to decode them.

As Ian poured water into 2.0's pot, he reevaluated his true mission at Wattpad and beyond. Instead of vague ideas centered around changing the world with stories, he focused his attention on new methods in which fictional stories could be accessed worldwide. Traditional publishing and movies have limitations, Ian rationalized, glancing back at his shelf of movies and books. A huge percentage of the world will never have access to those. I want to make stories available to anyone who needs them.

Turning back towards 2.0, Ian jerked the pitcher up to stop the flow of water. A mini lake formed around the base of 2.0's stem.

"Damn it!" he exclaimed, his outburst a reaction to drowning his roommate and a problematic statistic invading his thoughts. So what are you going to do about the fact that barely half the world has internet access?

Ian sighed. It would be difficult to change the world with stories if only a portion the population could be reached. Looking over his shoulder at the Robin Williams quote on his corkboard, he thought, But even if we make a few people happier, it's still a win. Right?

3.0 sat on the floor next to a lighted glass case displaying a few prized pieces of Ian's Star Wars figurine collection. Space had always been Ian's favorite subject and stories about space a favorite escape for his mind. Star Wars. Battlestar Galactica. Aliens. Star Trek: Deep Space Nine. Buck Rogers. Guardians of the Galaxy. There was something about the infinite nature of the night sky that called out to him. The universe was both calculable precision and an unfathomable mystery.

With an empty pitcher still in hand, Ian walked to his sliding glass door and stepped out onto a small balcony. He gazed up at the stars--or what was left of the stars when viewed through Toronto's light pollution--and pondered his place in the universe like many of his favorite sci-fi characters had done.

I'm a speck of dust living on a tiny rock called Earth, and Earth is nothing but a speck of dust in a giant solar system. Ian set the pitcher down and rested his arms on the railing. The solar system? It's a speck of dust in the Milky Way Galaxy, and the Milky Way Galaxy is nothing but a speck of dust in the Virgo Cluster. Virgo Supercluster? Just a speck of dust amongst a backdrop of millions of superclusters in the universe.

A strange sense of relief crashed through Ian as he embraced his insignificance in the grand scheme of reality. "You're a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck, on a speck--and you want to control every single variable and uncertainty before taking a step forward. How thick can you be?"

"I'd guess ya real thick," a female voice purred.

Faster than lightspeed, Ian's thoughts returned from the depths of space to the present moment. Glancing to the right towards a bordering balcony, he saw his 60-something neighbor in a see-through nightgown seductively smoking her cigarette. Turning his focus to an empty space between the two balconies so his neighbor's private bits weren't burned into his memory, Ian said, "Evening, Celine."

Ian met his sultry neighbor around the time he moved into his apartment--roughly two years ago. Introducing herself as Celine Dijon, Ian wasn't sure how to process her. He often wondered if Celine Dijon was actually a fake name used to hide her real identity from someone or something. However, Celine's animal print leggings, sequined tops, brightly manicured toes in flip flops and neon feather boas suggested she had no intentions of staying under the radar.

Celine pulled her cigarette from her lips and nodded to the sky with her head. "Who ya talkin' to, darlin'?

"Just thinking," Ian replied, still staring at the empty space. "Out loud. To myself."

Throwing a silky leopard print robe over her sheer nightgown, Celine pointed to her apartment with the cigarette. "Come over 'n talk to Mama. I wanna know what'cha thinkin'."

Now that she was robed, Ian turned to her and smiled. "That's kind of you, but I--."

"I insist," Celine interrupted. "Ladies not comin' home with ya, darlin'. Mama wanna make sure ya--alright."

Oh, dear Christ. "Uh--." Ian desperately searched the files of his brain for a polite excuse to remove himself from the balcony and lockdown the apartment.

Celine caressed her neck with brightly patterned fingernails. "Ya like boys, darlin'? Dat it?"

"What?"

Sucking her forefinger briefly in her mouth, a different kind of arousal flickered in Celine's eyes. "Always wanna seduce a man dat like boys." Twirling a strand of hair around her finger, she added, "Dat a fantasy. A hot, must-arrrrd fantasy."

Ian pointed into his apartment. "I'm supposed to call my girlfriend. Good talking to you, Celine. Have a nice night."

Dashing into his apartment, Ian slid the sliding door closed and locked it. He immediately sat down at his dinette table and flipped open his laptop. "I need to find a girlfriend," he mumbled.

Ian opened up a new window in his browser and went directly to the OKCupid website. Despite hundreds of online dating platforms to choose from, OKCupid's data-first brand grabbed Ian's attention like a moth to a flame. Created by four mathematicians interested in collecting data to explore online dating trends, OKCupid stood out in the matchmaking market as the site connecting people via statistics and probabilities. This appealed to Ian. There was nothing he trusted more than a numbers game, especially when it came to love--or anything.

When Ian finished checking his notifications on OKCupid, he directed his attention to six minimized windows at the bottom of his screen. All six windows contained the OKCupid profiles of women Ian had selected earlier as top contenders for a possible date. He clicked the first minimized window.

Monica from Brampton, Ontario--a 90 percent match.

Ian scanned Monica's photos and read her description. Beautiful brunette. Degree in marketing. Loves hiking. Enjoys reading. Has traveled to 27 countries. Speaks four languages.

I could have a Monica in my life, Ian thought, as he clicked on the link to send her a message. We seem compatible. 90 percent sounds about accurate. When Ian hit send on Monica's message, he clicked on the next minimized window.

Erika from Toronto, Ontario--93 percent match.

If Ian's very traditional Chinese mother could've picked the most ideal Chinese woman for Ian to make Chinese grandchildren with, it's likely she would've picked Erika.

There's no doubt mum would want to see Erika by my side. He glanced at the 93 percent match score. She seems to be mum and OKCupid's choice for me. Remembering he was a speck of dust on many specks of dust, Ian decided not overthink it. He sent Erika a quick message, then clicked the next minimized window.

Rita from Oshawa, Ontario--86 percent match.

Attractive. Computer programmer. Several statistics in her profile description. A ping pong champion. AND--an avid Comic-Con attendee.

Maybe Rita's what I need, he wondered. 86 percent was decent, but not ideal. Ian sent a quick and unmemorable message to Rita, then clicked the next minimized window.

Tina from Toronto, Ontario--93 percent match.

I see Tina, he thought, impatiently clicking on the next minimized window.

And I see Sandra in the sun. From Toronto, Ontario. On the beach in a tiny bikini. 94 percent match.

Ian dropped his head in his hands out of frustration and rubbed his face with his palms. They have great percentages. You're supposed to be excited.

Closing both Tina and Sandra's windows without messaging them, he leaned back in his chair--arms draped across his chest. He glanced at the last remaining minimized window at the bottom of the screen, then focused his attention on the window still open with OKCupid's home page. His eyes drifted to the search link.

Don't do it, he warned himself. She's way out of your 75 kilometers limit.

Curiosity had killed many cats and it was about to kill Ian's hope. Sitting up straight in his chair and placing his fingers on the keyboard, he searched for Amanda's OKCupid profile--the one he read about on her blog. After scrolling through a ton of profile pictures, he eventually found her.

Amanda from Seattle, Washington--68 percent match.

Ian's heart sank as his cursor hovered over Amanda's picture. What are you doing, he asked himself. We live in different countries--on opposite sides of the continent. We're a statistical disaster. She's nothing like--. She doesn't have--. She's won't be--.

Click

Note: If you're familiar with popular music from 1999, there's a small chance you might be wondering why those OKCupid ladies sounded so familiar. Here's why:

https://youtu.be/EK_LN3XEcnw