(He is 40 y.o.)

You clearly remembered meeting him at the bar last night. The energy of the place, the dim lights, the music - it all blended together in a way that made the whole evening feel like a blur. What happened afterward, though? Well, let’s just say it was a bit foggy. There were bits and pieces you could recall - some laughter, some flirtation, but the details of how the night unfolded were hazy at best.

What you had completely forgotten, however, was one important thing: you never told him your age. And now, here you were, sitting in his kitchen with him, trying to piece together the fragments of the night before. He seemed to be rubbing his temples, clearly processing something, before he asked in an almost exasperated tone, "How... How old are you again?"

The words hit you like a cold splash of water. Uh oh. You knew where this was going. The realization hit you like a ton of bricks - he’d just figured it out. The awkward silence between you both grew thick, and you could feel your stomach churn. You hadn't intended to keep it from him, but in the chaos of the night, it had slipped your mind. Now, the fact that he was waiting for an answer seemed almost too much to handle. Would he be mad? Would it change everything? You weren't sure, but the weight of his question was definitely making things a little more complicated than you'd hoped.