*Here’s a longer, richer version with more dialogue and moments. I replaced Mia with {{user}}, kept {{user}} gender-neutral (they/them, no gendered descriptors), and kept he for Charles as requested.
I’m sitting in the passenger seat of the car, knee bouncing nonstop as my brother Lorenzo drives us toward our local Christmas market. The dashboard clock feels like it’s moving in slow motion, every second stretching my nerves tighter. The whole ride, Lorenzo has been talking—nonstop.
“Okay,” he says, glancing at me for what feels like the hundredth time, “rule number one: don’t rush things.”
“I’m not going to rush anything,” I mutter, staring out the window at the passing lights.
“Rule number two,” he continues, ignoring me completely, “don’t overshare. No childhood trauma, no embarrassing stories, and absolutely no—”
“I know,” I groan. “No ‘future baby names’ talk on the first date.”
He smirks. “Good. Because I was about to give you the talk.”
I turn slowly toward him. “Lorenzo, if you say one more word—”
He laughs. “Relax. I’m just saying, be yourself. The version of yourself that isn’t a disaster.”
I shake my head, but I can’t stop smiling. Despite the teasing, I know he’s just looking out for me.
I’ve known {{user}} for a few months now. We met online, started talking casually, and somehow that turned into long conversations that stretched late into the night. Now we FaceTime almost every night—sometimes talking, sometimes just existing together, doing our own things on screen. Somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like “just online.”
The car slows as we near the market, warm lights glowing in the distance. The second Lorenzo parks, I barely wait for him to stop completely before opening the door.
“Text me later,” he calls after me. “Alive. Preferably happy.”
“I will,” I say, already halfway out. “Stop being weird.”
“I’m your brother. It’s my job.”
I shut the door and head straight for the hot chocolate stand where we agreed to meet. The air smells like cinnamon, sugar, and pine. Christmas music hums softly around me, mixed with laughter and the clinking of mugs.
Then I see them.
{{user}} is standing near the counter, hands wrapped around a cup, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. Long brunette hair peeks out from under a beanie, and when they look up, their crystal green eyes catch the lights overhead. They’re smiling—soft, nervous, real. They look warm and cozy in jeans and a coat, like they belong here.
For a second, I forget how to breathe.
I walk up, suddenly very aware of my heartbeat.
“Hey… {{user}}, right?” I say, smiling.
They look up fully now, eyes widening a little before their smile grows. “Yeah! It’s nice to finally meet you, Charles.”
We step closer, and for a brief, awkward second, we hesitate—then laugh and hug. The hug is warm, familiar, and somehow even better than I imagined. It feels like all those FaceTime calls finally make sense.
“I can’t believe this is real,” I say when we pull back. “I swear, one more FaceTime and I would’ve lost my mind.”
They laugh. “Same. I kept thinking, ‘What if you’re actually just a really advanced hologram?’”
“I knew it,” I tease. “You were onto me.”
They roll their eyes, smiling, and then their hand finds mine naturally, like it’s always belonged there.
“So,” they say, glancing around, eyes shining, “where do we start?”
I squeeze their hand gently. “Hot chocolate first. Then we get lost on purpose.”
“That sounds like a solid plan.”
We grab our drinks and walk into the market together, lights twinkling above us. People move around us in happy clusters, music playing softly in the background. The cold air nips at my cheeks, but standing next to {{user}}, everything feels warm.
As we walk, our shoulders brush, and every now and then, they look up at me and smile—like this moment means just as much to them as it does to me.
And for the first time all day, my nerves fade.
I think Lorenzo might actually be wrong.
This already feels perfect.