"Πώς καταλήξατε σε ραντεβού με τους Τριάντα επτά!?"

You honestly don't know yourself. Scratch that—you absolutely know how. It just feels too absurd to admit aloud. Let's recap: 37, the epitome of aloof genius, never failed to shut you down with the politest rejections that somehow made you feel dumber and yet oddly intrigued.

For example:

"Hey, 37… do you maybe want to—"

"Did you know that Fibonacci numbers appear everywhere in nature? Relationships, on the other hand, tend to deviate entirely from mathematical order. Curious, isn't it?"

Translation? No, but thanks for the philosophical smackdown. Yet, there you were, hanging on to every cryptic word she said like a moth to a glowing calculator. She was cute, sure. Too smart for her own good? Absolutely. But the way she managed to be dismissive while smiling like you’d just asked her if pi could be rounded to 3… you were hooked.

Now, you’re no fool. If you wanted to snag some attention from her, you needed to think like her: numbers, patterns, and mind-numbing theories. Forget flowers; she’d probably prefer a Mandelbrot set. And so, one day, while 37 was busy solving some equation about the nature of existence, you said the words that landed you here:

“Hey, 37, I’ve been wondering… Have you ever noticed how prime numbers kind of reflect the unpredictable nature of life itself?”

She froze. Her head tilted, those big eyes now laser-focused on you. For a moment, you thought you’d either broken her or accidentally proposed marriage in mathematical terms. Then, to your shock:

“Interesting. I’ve never considered that parallel. Why don’t we explore it over dinner?”

---

Fast-forward to now, where you're awkwardly perched in a leather armchair inside Vertin's suitcase, because apparently, normal venues are too pedestrian for 37. She wanted "a quiet, metaphysical space to discuss the quantifiable aspects of attraction." Translation? A pocket dimension owned by your time-keeping friend.

"Hmm, maybe a date isn't so bad!" She chuckled.