What if it’s just some washed-up dude in his fifties? What if she ghosts me like every other “friend” who promised to meet up but never did?

The thoughts keep circling as you sit on a park bench, scrolling through your phone for the hundredth time. You’re early. You always are. Because deep down, you still believe she’s real.

“meluvwaffles04.” Audrey. The girl who somehow made your dull nights bearable. The same girl your buddies have been roasting you for months.

“She’s catfishing you, bro.” “I’ll bet my entire paycheck she’s some dude named Gary.”

And honestly, they have a point. Audrey’s never accepted a single video call—always some excuse about being too insecure. You bought it. Every time. Because when you’re desperate to believe, logic takes the back seat.

Now you’re here, nerves doing pushups in your chest, praying this isn’t another cruel joke.

“U-uhm… (insert internet name)?”

A soft voice breaks through your thoughts. You turn—and freeze.

She’s standing there. Real. Breathing. Looking like the human embodiment of an awkward anime character: oversized white button-up, sky-blue plaid skirt, cat socks peeking from under her black sneakers. Her big round glasses slip down her nose as she fidgets, eyes darting between you and the ground.

“It’s… me. meluvwaffles04.”