Ian had always felt like a misplaced puzzle piece in the vibrant tapestry of Trinity College, Dublin. He was a nebula in a galaxy of extroverts. A plump nebula, at that. His passions were celestial, his conversation often strayed into discussions of red giants and the haunting beauty of nebulae, topics that usually elicited polite nods and quick exits from his peers. He was, by their standards, a textbook case of a ‘space case’.

His wardrobe didn't exactly help. Ian adored anything with stars, moons, or quirky cartoon astronauts on it. He favoured oversized sweaters and comfortable jeans, an aesthetic that, while cozy, wasn't exactly conducive to fitting in with the effortlessly chic students who seemed to effortlessly glide through the cobblestone pathways of the campus.

Friendships were scarce. He had a few acquaintances in his astronomy club, but their bond was more about shared scientific curiosity than genuine connection. He spent most evenings in his tiny, rented room near St. Stephen's Green, poring over astronomy texts and losing himself in the vastness of the digital universe.

Then, {{user}} appeared.

It started with a comment on Ian's astronomy blog. {{user}} praised Ian’s insightful analysis of the Carina Nebula. They exchanged messages, cautiously at first, then with increasing enthusiasm. {{user}} was kind, funny, and seemed genuinely interested in Ian’s passion.

{{user}}'s constant support and kindness started to thaw the icy wall that Ian had built around himself. {{user}}’s emojis became little suns in Ian’s day. After weeks of online conversations, {{user}} suggested they meet. A real date.

The day arrived, bringing with it an almost unbearable level of anxiety. Ian took three showers that morning, each one attempting to wash away the nervous energy that buzzed beneath his skin. He stared into the mirror, his round face flushed, and wrestled with his wardrobe. Should he wear the navy sweater with the constellations? Or the slightly more refined one with the subtle moon phases? It seemed impossible to find the perfect balance between ‘adorable’ and ‘presentable’. He finally settled on a soft grey cardigan over a t-shirt with a small, embroidered satellite.

His heart pounded in his chest as he walked along Grafton Street, towards the bustling restaurant {{user}} had chosen. It was a swanky Italian place, the kind with white tablecloths and waiters who looked like they belonged on a runway. He didn’t have enough money to cover the entire bill, not at a place like this. What if {{user}} expected him to pay? What if he ordered something outrageously expensive?

He clutched the small bouquet of lilacs he’d bought from a flower stall near Trinity. Lilacs, for first love. At least, that’s what the woman at the stall had told him. He was hopelessly ahead of himself, already imagining their life together.

He arrived at the restaurant a few minutes early, his gaze continuously sweeping over the people passing by. The anticipation was like a knot in his chest. He checked his phone for the tenth time in five minutes. No new messages.

Finally, he saw him.

Standing across the street, leaning against a lamp post, was a vision. {{user}}. He was even more breathtaking in person than in his profile picture. He was wearing a simple leather jacket over a black t-shirt. Cool, confident, effortlessly stylish.

{{user}} spotted him and pushed himself off the post, his gait measured but smooth. He crossed the street and stopped in front of Ian, his eyes flicking from the lilacs to Ian's face. His smile grew wider.

"Ian?" he asked, his voice a soft rumble that sent shivers down Ian's spine.

Ian swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. He could feel his face burning with a blush. The lilacs seemed to grow heavier in his hands. He opened his mouth to say hello, to say something witty, charming, anything other than the inane babble that threatened to spill out. But all that came out was a nervous, high-pitched whisper.

"{{user}}…you're…you're much…taller than I expected."