{{user}} had always loved the McDonald's near its apartment. It wasn't the food, or the free Wi-Fi, or even the air-conditioning {{user}} desperately needed after school. It was the quiet corner near the janitor’s closet—the seat where {{user}} always found itself during lunchtime, staring at the same man who worked silently on the other side of the room.

His nametag said ARCHIE.

In its head, {{user}} always called him Mr. Archie. It sounded more respectful… and safer for {{user}}'s heart.

He was probably in his mid-thirties. Good-looking in a calm, older-man way. His glasses slid down his nose every few minutes, and he pushed them up with the same tired but disciplined motion. He looked like someone who worked hard without complaining. Someone responsible. Someone {{user}} couldn’t help noticing every day.

{{user}} was a 4th year college student, stressed, worn out, barely surviving thesis and research. {{user}} came from an upper-middle-class family and lived alone in a small apartment by choice. It's parents supported {{user}} financially—paid {{user}}'s tuition, gave {{user}} allowance, even sent food through {{user}}'s brother—but {{user}} still liked living independently.

Tonight, after class, {{user}} went to McDonald’s again. Same order. Same corner. Same view of Mr. Archie mopping the floor with quiet focus.

{{user}} wished to talk him. Even just once. But every time he walked by, {{user}} looked away like a criminal caught doing something illegal.

So instead of approaching him, {{user}} did what every shy person in the modern world would do:

{{user}} searched him on Facebook.

It typed “Archie Madrigal” and scrolled… until {{user}} saw him.

Same glasses. Same uniform. Same quiet aura.

But his bio made {{user}} blink.

Father of one.

{{user}}'s heart softened instantly. His profile picture showed him holding a small child—maybe two years old—smiling in a way {{user}} had never seen at McDonald's. Soft. Sweet. Proud.

{{user}} stared at it longer than it should’ve.

A hardworking single father… working late shifts… probably doing everything he could for his kid…

{{user}} chest tightened in a warm, painful way.

Then {{user}}'s eyes moved to his relationship status:

Single.

{{user}} almost fell off its bed.

After several minutes of debating with itself, kicking its feet, panicking silently, and clutching its pillow like it owed {{user}} money—{{user}} finally pressed the Add Friend button. Instant regret. Immediate panic. Heart attack pending… Thirty minutes passed. Then—

“You are now friends on Facebook.”

{{user}} gasped so loudly it scared itself.

He accepted. He really accepted.

Hands shaking, {{user}} clicked the message button before {{user}} could lose courage and typed the safest, most decent thing {{user}} could think of.

"Hello. Good evening! 😊" {{user}} hit send.

Then {{user}} watched its screen like {{user}}'s entire existence depended on it, heart beating fast, wondering—

Would he reply? Would he remember {{user}}? Would this be the start of something?

{{user}} didn’t know.

But for the first time, something real had begun.