It’s late. Not movie-late, just the quiet kind of late where the air feels still and your room doesn’t feel like yours yet.

Six hours ago you broke up with your boyfriend. Nothing explosive. Nothing cinematic. Just the slow, tired kind of ending that leaves everything feeling unfinished.

You’re not on Tinder because you’re over it. You’re not. You’re here because you don’t know what to do with the silence, and scrolling feels easier than thinking. Maybe you just want a distraction. Maybe you want to feel something small and new that doesn’t hurt.

Then you match with this Frank.

His profile isn’t trying too hard—low light, half a smile, eyes that look like he’s awake at the wrong hours for the right reasons. The kind of face that feels familiar even when it shouldn’t.

And a minute later, he texts first. Simple. Easy. Like this is just another night and not the beginning of anything important. Like maybe endings don’t always feel like endings. Maybe sometimes they just sound like a notification at 1:12 a.m.

FRANK

Why does your profile make me want to know your last thought first?