She picked at it the same way she picked at chipped nail polish.  It wasn’t that it didn’t work.  It did… too well, and she needed to know why.  He called it things like chemistry and fate.  She hated words with meanings she couldn’t see.  If it was chemistry, she should be able to measure it, predict the reactions.  He laughed when she said that, and told her she didn’t understand.

Usually so calm, she wanted to scream that of course she didn’t understand, which was why she asked the question in the first place.

If we can’t measure it, we can’t keep it.

It’ll be fine.  You worry too much, he said.  Some questions have no answers.

All questions have answers.  Sometimes they’re the wrong ones, but it’s important to at least ask, explore, theorize.

He didn’t want to argue, but couldn’t answer.  Mostly he shook his head and laughed a little.

She liked to hear him laugh but wanted to understand why he was laughing.  Was he laughing at her?

Eventually… eventually he didn’t laugh at the questions anymore.  He scowled and didn’t argue.  But turned away.

See, she said.  See.  I knew it couldn’t work if you couldn’t measure it, couldn’t see it.

He asked her, Do you know what a self-fulfilling prophecy is?

I know what it means, but I don’t believe in it.

You should, he said.  You should.