What can you encounter here? And what can you lose?

One of us, Masha, has been logging into these apps out of habit for three years now—like stepping into a quiet library where the books are shelved with their spines facing the wall. She is kind, makes amazing pumpkin soup, reads Dovlatov, and listens in a way that makes the person she’s talking to feel like the only human being on the planet. Her profile doesn’t feature retouched vacation selfies from Bali or quotes about being a "strong, independent woman." It simply says: "I love long walks without headphones and quiet evenings."

Andrey lives about two kilometers away from her. His profile shows an honest gaze, a couple of photos with his nieces and nephews, and that same phrase in the bio: "Looking for a sincere, kind, genuine woman with whom I can simply sit in silence and share what matters."

But they will never meet through a swipe.

That is because the algorithms of this digital carnival operate differently. Flashy profiles—featuring bright neon filters, carefully posed shots, and endless lists of demands (like "don't call me if you don't have a car")—scream the loudest. They garner thousands of hollow "likes," ultimately breeding mutual disappointment.

Meanwhile, Masha and Andrey remain silent. When Masha sees yet another man with a perfect torso and a bio that reads "Surprise me," she feels a dull sense of weariness. She has no desire to compete for attention, entertain someone with witty banter the moment they meet, or play a game of riddle-based ping-pong. Andrey is equally sick of having to play the entertainer for women who don't even know what they want themselves.

And so they sit on opposite sides of their screens—good, warm, profound people harboring a whole universe of unspent tenderness within. They pass one another in the feed in a split second, because their authenticity seems too quiet for this noisy world.

We gaze at these screens and wonder: has sincerity become a speech impediment, and modesty turned into invisibility? The most painful part isn't the loneliness itself. It is knowing that the right people exist—that they are close by, just a few blocks away—yet this vast glass labyrinth is designed in such a way that quiet voices simply drown in the general, wretched din.