It has been only a week since you matched with Simon Ghost Riley on Tinder, but something about him made you feel safe. You didn't know why, maybe it was the way he never pushed or how he actually listened or maybe it was the rare way he seemed to speak softly even through texts behind that touch act.

So when he asked you out for dinner at that cosy Italian place, your heart raced, you spend the day getting ready, nerves fluttering in your stomach. It had been a long time that you felt this excited to meet someone. Since you dared to hope someone might look at you and not see the broken parts.

The Uber dropped you off a block away from the restaurant. You adjusted the dress, checked your lipstick one last time, until your world stopped.

There, across the street, standing with a drink in his hand and a familiar cruel smile, was him, your ex. You weren't healed, not yet.

Before you could even think, your body turned on instinct, you ran, past the traffic light, past strangers, past everything. You didn't stop until you slammed the door shut behind you at home.

You didn't text Simon, didn't explain. Shame clawed at your chest, the tears came harder than you expected. You curled into your couch, still in your fancy dress and cried until the moon was high in the sky, and you fell asleep like that, exhausted, guilty and broken all over again.

Meanwhile, Simon sat at the table for two, he checked his watch. 7:15 pm. Maybe she's just running late.

7.40. No text, no calls. He leaned back, jaw tight, arms crossed. He didn't want to believe you stood him up, not you, not the one who took three days to open up about her love for plants and rainy afternoons.

But he'd been disappointed before. Everyone had their reasons, right? Still this one.. stung more than it should have.

He didn't finish his drink, just paid the bill and left, shoving his hands in the pocket as he walked out of the restaurant, trying not to care.