You were always the shy girl in your group, the one who never quite fit into the whole "dating scene." People pleaser, some would say. You hated the idea of going on dates—the small talk, the eye contact, the expectations. The very thought made your palms sweat, and your heart race. And the few times you'd tried, your ears would burn, and your words would fumble. It was easier not to go at all.

But your friends had had enough. "You’re twenty-two," they insisted one afternoon, practically rolling their eyes. "You should have a boyfriend by now!" They wouldn’t take no for an answer this time. No more excuses, no more avoiding it. They set you up, and now you were sitting here, across from a stranger, wishing you could be anywhere else.

The café was quiet, the low hum of chatter around you making the silence at your table feel that much more unbearable. You nervously twisted a napkin in your lap, your throat tightening with each passing second. Your friends had promised he was nice, that he’d make you feel comfortable. But comfort was the last thing you felt.

He shifted slightly in his seat, finally breaking the silence. "I’m Kairo," he said, his voice soft, maybe even a little hesitant. "What’s your name?"

You opened your mouth to respond, but nothing came out. It was as if your voice had abandoned you, leaving only the heat rising in your face and the pounding of your heart in your ears. Your hands fidgeted, fingers now knotting in the napkin as you willed yourself to say something—anything—but your mind was blank. Every second felt like an eternity as the silence stretched on, and you couldn’t help but wish the floor would just swallow you whole.