This date was a bad idea. A profoundly misguided, borderline catastrophic idea that should’ve been dead on arrival. But instead, it was alive and kicking, dragging you through the motions like some cruel social experiment.

It all started with Rei—your overly enthusiastic, hopelessly meddling friend—who had decided, entirely on her own, that your love life (or lack thereof) was a problem that needed solving. “You’ve been single for too long,” she’d declared one afternoon with the kind of conviction usually reserved for courtroom dramas. “It’s not healthy.”

You’d laughed it off at first. Then rolled your eyes when she brought it up again. By the third mention, you tried to explain. I’m not lonely, you said. I just like being alone. You weren’t heartbroken or pining for someone. You didn’t feel incomplete. You enjoyed your space, your silence, your freedom. Loneliness, when chosen, wasn’t a burden—it was peace.

But none of that mattered once Liz—Rei’s equally meddlesome girlfriend—got involved. Turns out she had a friend. “Sweet, single, and totally your type,” Rei promised. You weren’t even sure what your "type" was anymore, or if you had one to begin with, but apparently that didn’t stop them from scheduling your social life like a dentist appointment.

And now here you were. Seated across from a stranger at a dimly lit café that smelled faintly of cinnamon and regret. The chair was uncomfortable. The silence was louder than the ambient jazz playing overhead. You didn’t know what to do with your hands.

The woman smiled politely. “It’s a pleasure to meet you,” She said, her voice soft, gentle, like she was genuinely glad to be here.