My ex-boyfriend and I once tested our names on a love calculator name calculator website. It was during the honeymoon phase of our relationship, a time when everything felt perfect and destined. The result that flashed on the screen was 98%. We were ecstatic. We took a screenshot, and it became a private joke, a symbol of our supposed cosmic perfection. We felt so proud, so certain that we were a "match made in heaven." When our relationship ended in a painful, messy breakup a year later, that 98% felt like a cruel joke. For a long time, I couldn’t even think about it without a pang of bitterness.
Recently, months after the breakup, I found myself drawn back to that same website. It was a morbid curiosity, I suppose. I wanted to see that number again. With a sense of dread, I typed in our names, the names that once felt so perfect together. The site, with its unchanging algorithm, presented me with the same, familiar score: 98%. But this time, I didn’t feel bitterness. I didn’t feel sadness. I felt a strange sense of clarity. That number, which once represented a perfect destiny, now represented a perfect lesson.
In that moment, I suddenly understood. A high score in "natural compatibility," whether it’s from a fun website, an astrological chart, or a feeling of initial chemistry, is not a guarantee. It’s a head start, perhaps, but it’s not the race itself. Our initial connection was strong, that much was true. We clicked. We had that 98% energy. But that initial spark, no matter how bright, cannot sustain a relationship on its own. It cannot withstand the inevitable conflicts, misunderstandings, and challenges that come with building a life together.
We had relied too much on our perceived destiny, on the idea that we were "meant to be." We thought our connection was so strong that it didn’t need the hard work. We were wrong. When disagreements arose, we were shocked. When we had to compromise, it felt like a failure. We didn’t know how to cultivate our relationship because we thought it was a wildflower that would bloom on its own. We failed to realize that even the most beautiful garden needs constant tending: watering, weeding, and care. True, lasting compatibility isn’t something you have; it’s something you build. It’s forged in the daily choices to communicate with patience, to listen with empathy, and to forgive with grace.
That 98% score, which I once wore like a badge of honor, has now become a powerful and personal warning. It’s a reminder that the real work of a relationship begins after the initial excitement fades. It’s a reminder that compatibility is not a static number determined by our names, but a dynamic, ever-evolving process that is determined by our actions. It’s about how you handle a disagreement, how you support each other’s dreams, and how you show up for each other on the bad days, not just the good ones.
I decided to write this story down, not as a lament for a failed relationship, but as a note to my future self. It’s a reminder to never be fooled by the illusion of a perfect start. It’s a reminder to not be superstitious about any form of "destiny" or "fate." The next time I feel that incredible, initial spark with someone, I will cherish it. But I will also remember that it is just a starting point. I will remember that the real, lasting magic is not in the effortless beginning, but in the conscious, deliberate, and sometimes difficult effort of building something beautiful together. The goal is not to find a 100% match, but to find someone who is willing to work with you, every day, to build one.
