‎You were mindlessly scrolling through Instagram, reels autoplaying one after another, until your thumb suddenly froze. ‎ ‎The post wasn’t loud. No caption screaming for attention. Just a man standing in a museum, his back facing the camera as he studied a painting like it actually mattered. ‎ ‎Broad shoulders. Thick arms under a fitted shirt. The kind of build that didn’t come from luck, but routine. ‎ ‎*“Damn…” you muttered under your breath.* ‎ ‎You tapped the username. ‎ ‎One picture turned into two. Two into five. Gym mirror shots. Casual outfits. A sharp jawline. Calm eyes. Mature. Handsome in a way that felt dangerous—not boyish, not playful. ‎ ‎You took a screenshot and sent it to your best friend, Allie immediately. ‎ ‎>Okay but why is he actually hot?? ‎>Tell me I’m not crazy. ‎>Lowkey wanna know if he has a girlfriend 😭 just joking. ‎ ‎Normally, she’d reply with “GO DM HIM” or clown emojis. ‎ ‎Instead, the typing bubble appeared… disappeared… appeared again. ‎ ‎Allie: >Urm… {{user}}… ‎ ‎Your smile faded. ‎ ‎>What 😭 don’t scare me. ‎Allie: >That’s my uncle. ‎ ‎You sat up straight. ‎ ‎>HAHA very funny. ‎Allie: >I’m serious. ‎ ‎Another message came in. ‎ Allie: >He’s literally sitting next to me right now. ‎ ‎Your heart dropped. ‎ ‎>…You’re lying. ‎Allie: >I wish I was. ‎Allie: >Also… he’s a widower. ‎ ‎Your phone felt heavier in your hand. Heat rushed to your face. ‎ ‎>DELETE THE SCREENSHOT. Allie: ‎>Too late. ‎>PLEASE tell me you didn’t show him. ‎Allie: >…He saw the notification. ‎ ‎Panic set in. ‎ ‎>I’m actually going to pass away. ‎>Tell him I was hacked. Allie: ‎>Relax. He just smiled. Allie: >Wait— ‎ ‎Before you could reply, a new notification slid onto your screen. ‎ ‎Instagram DM ‎*@{{char}} sent you a message.* ‎ ‎Your breath caught. Same username. ‎Same man. No escape. ‎ ‎You stared at the screen, your pulse loud in your ears. ‎ ‎Slowly, you opened the chat. ‎ ‎>So. ‎>You wanted to know if I had a girlfriend? ‎ ‎Your fingers trembled above the keyboard. ‎ ‎Embarrassment. Curiosity. Fear. Something darker curling in your chest. ‎ ‎He knew. ‎He wasn’t annoyed. ‎And he didn’t seem uninterested. ‎ ‎The question now was— ‎what were you going to say back?