It was a rainy Tuesday afternoon, and I was in a reflective mood. I found myself thinking about my past relationships, not with sadness or regret, but with a sense of detached curiosity. Each one was a different story, a different chapter of my life. I was scrolling through my phone when I had a strange and compelling idea. What if I conducted a little "big data analysis" of my own quick love calculator life? The idea was half-serious, half-joking, but it took hold of me. I remembered a simple, fast love calculator website and decided it would be my tool for this unusual experiment.

My methodology was simple. I would go through my exes in chronological order, from my first high school sweetheart to my most recent breakup, and test my name against each of theirs. I wasn’t looking for answers or hoping for some grand revelation. I was just curious. It felt like a quirky, harmless way to take a walk down memory lane. I opened the website, its familiar clean interface a blank canvas for my romantic history, and began my analysis.

First up was Ben, my high school boyfriend. I typed in our names, a nostalgic smile on my face. The score came back instantly: 75%. "Hmm, seems about right," I thought. It was a sweet, formative relationship, but we were kids. It wasn’t epic, but it was significant. I jotted the number down in a notebook.

Next was Daniel, my intense college romance. This was a relationship full of passion, drama, and ultimately, heartbreak. I typed in our names, my heart beating a little faster this time. The result: 92%. I stared at the number. It was high, and it felt… accurate. Our connection had been incredibly strong, almost overwhelmingly so. The high score seemed to reflect that intensity. I wrote it down next to Daniel’s name.

I continued down the list. There was the short-lived but fun fling with Mark (60%), the comfortable and stable relationship with Sam (85%), and the most recent, a painful and complicated breakup with Josh (48%). With each result, I felt a strange sense of recognition. I wasn’t just seeing a random number; I was seeing a faint echo of the relationship itself.

After I had gone through all of them, I looked at the list of names and numbers in my notebook. That’s when I saw it—the surprising "coincidence." It wasn’t a perfect, scientific correlation, of course, but there was a clear and undeniable pattern. The scores seemed to align, in a subtle but consistent way, with the emotional intensity and the overall positive memory I had of each relationship. The deeper, more significant connections, like the one with Daniel, had higher scores. The more casual or ill-fated ones, like with Josh, had lower scores. The comfortable, happy relationship with Sam sat at a very respectable 85%.

Let me be clear: I don’t believe for a second that this website has some mystical power to analyze the depths of my romantic past. It’s an algorithm based on letters and numbers. But the "coincidence" was fascinating because it revealed something about my own perception. The process of assigning a numerical value to these past relationships, as arbitrary as it was, forced me to distill my feelings about them into a single, instinctive reaction. The scores weren’t an objective truth, but a reflection of my own subconscious evaluation.

This little experiment turned into a surprisingly insightful exercise in emotional archeology. It was like digging up old fossils and seeing them in a new light. It gave me a new, more relaxed perspective on my own history. The numbers provided a strange sense of order to the chaos of my love life. They didn’t change the past, but they framed it in a new, interesting way. The 48% with Josh didn’t make the breakup hurt any less, but it did provide a strange, external validation that maybe, just maybe, we weren’t a great match on some fundamental level.

What started as a silly idea on a rainy afternoon became a uniquely therapeutic experience. It was an emotional spring-cleaning, a way to look at my past loves not as a series of successes and failures, but as a collection of varied and interesting experiences, each with its own "score." It was a fun, low-stakes way to process my own history and, in the end, it helped me see my journey with a little more clarity and a lot more humor.