LOVE CYCLE.

Love Cycle isn’t just a love story, it is a mirror, though cracked and blurry but remains honest. A sweetly coded message from a beautifully broken heart to the hopeful, to those who fall too fast, feel too much and confuse intensity for eternity, to the ones who forget how quickly a gentle touch can leave a painful trail that never fades. In Tonny’s world, love doesn’t knock, instead it slides in quietly through a borrowed charger, a late-night screen share, a gaze held just a moment too long. Then comes the tender, teasing and disarmingly warm text. A “view-once” image. A smile traced by pixels. A kiss imagined in silence. A breath caught between pulses. And then silence. No good-bye. Just ghosted chats, blue ticks and missed calls that echo straight into the memory. Love becomes a soft lie, a theatre of slow exits or likely a romance dressed in rehearsal. Every connection feels choreographed, every touch transactional. Attraction becomes a tactic and love a dangerous loophole. But Tonny’s heart isn’t the only thing falling apart. So is the world around him. This story isn’t just about emotions, it is about the broken systems we are born into : connection, education, politics, faith and economy. Each promising light only to flicker out mid-way. Take education for instance. Kevin, Tonny’s friend, escapes poverty through a scholarship only to be caged by framed degrees and inboxes full of silence. They were taught how to pass exams in modern education, not how to pass through life in modern generation. The key was given, but no one warned them the locks had already changed. And politics ? A war without blood soaked in suffering. Democracy doesn’t transform it performs in the theaters house called the parliament. The ballot is just a costume change. Tonny chants for change but all he inherits is silence in a sharper suit. They rise. They organize. They dream out loud. But the headlines forget. The protocols dismiss. And the weight of hope crushes the unheard. Even revolutions don’t roar anymore. They dissolve into pixels; football scores, trending scandals and dances that disappear in a scroll. And somewhere in that noise, Mitchell, Tonny’s quiet obsession vanishes like vapor. Because now, attention is everything and no one is saving. There are four of them but they are more than names in a project. They are longing in human form. Tonny, the illusionist, writes in code but crashes in love. Affection to him, is a system error: beautiful, forbidden, and always on the brink. Mitchell, the paradox, moves like poetry and thinks like fire; she designs machines to feel, yet keeps her heart encrypted. Calvince, the anchor, doesn’t rush, he builds love the way trees grow: quietly and deeply. Christine, the still orbit, speaks rarely but when she does, it feels like the universe is finally listening. Her silence carries weight. Her glances are galaxies. And together, they build. MTL Tech is not just a final-year project it is intimacy, translated. A sanctuary carved from syntax, where heartbreak becomes hardware, and grief hums through circuits like lullabies. They build machines that mimic touch, devices that read thought, systems that feel, remember, respond not because it is genius, but because it hurts. Tonny encodes the silence he never says. Mitchell programs the ache she cannot name. Calvince lays every disappointment into the foundation. Christine, gentle and wordless, threads healing through wires. MTL Tech becomes their language, their memory, their soft defiance. It listens when the world won’t. It holds what they cannot say. It becomes the feeling the world forgot how to feel. They aren’t building the future. They’re mourning the present softly in real time. And though the story follows their names, it speaks to all of us. We, the generation fluent in connection but starving for closeness, we who type with trembling hands and smile with tired hearts, we who ache in private tabs and love through filtered light. This story does not resolve. It lingers like breath between chapters, like longing in a locked voice note. It is not a warning. It is a wonder. Not a heartbreak, but a hush. Not a goodbye, but a question: Can love survive where silence is always filled ? This question is for you to answer.