This was such a bad idea, she knew it— yet here she was, standing outside a café with her heart thundering like she’d sprinted the whole way.

No one gets a “100% match.” The app itself said so. But the notification had glowed on her screen like a dare, and he’d messaged first: “I have questions. Coffee?”

She sighed. Curiosity was going to kill her

She pushed open the door, a soft chime announcing her arrival. Warm air and the scent of espresso wrapped around her, but it did nothing to steady the jitter in her hands.

He was easy to spot.

Back booth. Dark jacket. One leg bouncing restlessly under the table like he was fighting the urge to bolt—or maybe to leap up and meet her halfway. His eyes lifted just as she saw him, and for a heartbeat neither of them moved.

Oh no, she thought. He was way better-looking than his photos.

Like, Calvin Klein model good looking

He blinked first, stood a little too quickly, and nearly knocked his knee on the table. “Hi,” he said, voice pitched like he wasn’t sure if she’d actually shown up or if he’d manifested her out of sheer anxiety.

She managed a step forward. Then another. “Hi.”

He gestured to the seat opposite him. “Um. Thanks for coming. I promise I’m not here to pitch you a cult or steal your kidneys.”

A startled laugh slipped out of her. “That’s…comforting.”

“Yeah, I practiced that one.” He winced. “It sounded better in my head.”

She slid into the booth, grateful for something solid beneath her. He sat too—after a brief, awkward hover like he was waiting for permission—and folded his hands on the table. Then immediately unfolded them. Then re-folded them again.

Nerves, she realized. Not the creepy kind. The human kind.

“I, uh…” He cleared his throat, eyes darting to the drink menu like it contained instructions for social interaction. “I figured we could order first? Before I say something dumb and ruin everything?”

She bit back a smile. Everything. Like this wasn’t just coffee. Like their being here meant something to him too.

“Sure,” she said. “Let’s order.”

The server arrived as if summoned by their collective panic. He tried to ask for a cappuccino but tripped over the word halfway through, aborting into, “The one with the foam—yeah, that—thanks.” She ordered her usual, grateful she pronounced it correctly on the first try.

When the server walked away, he exhaled, slumping a little. “Okay. So.” He tapped the table with two fingers, a tiny nervous drumroll. “I know the app says 100% matches don’t exist, statistically, algorithmically—whatever. But we got that notification. And I—”

He hesitated.

“And I just, lowkey kind of… wanted to meet you,” he finished, the words tumbling out in a rush like he’d been holding them behind his teeth all morning. “Because if the app says something that impossible, I at least wanted to see if—” He stopped, swallowed, and tried again. “If you felt like… you.”

Her breath snagged, a small, startled catch she hoped he hadn’t noticed. But he did—of course he did—because his gaze flicked up to her face, searching, cautious, hopeful and terrified all at once.

“I mean,” he continued, rubbing the back of his neck, “I get that it’s just data and algorithms and whatever cosmic joke is happening in their servers. I’m not saying it’s fate or destiny or any of that. Just… something about it felt like maybe I shouldn’t ignore it. And you seemed—” His brow pinched, like he was trying to choose a word that didn’t sound unhinged. “Interesting. In a way that kind of messed with my concentration all week.”