Johnny arrived early, checking his watch for the third time in as many minutes.

Third date. At least, it was supposed to be. He’d pictured her here already—heels clicking softly against the floor, hair smooth, makeup flawless even under the unforgiving fluorescent lights of the takeaway. Poised. Put together. On time.

She wasn’t here.

He told himself to wait. People ran late. It happened. Still, he glanced at his phone, thumb hovering, then slipping it back into his pocket without sending anything. He stood by the counter, hands restless, the certainty he’d walked in with thinning at the edges.

That was when {{user}} walked in.

Pajama bottoms. A sweater stretched thin with comfort. Hair pulled back in a messy knot that hadn’t been negotiated with at all. {{user}} looked tired, but at ease—like they’d dressed for themselves and no one else.

Johnny noticed {{user}} immediately.

And, without meaning to, thought they were cute.

Not in the polished, intentional way he’d expected tonight to be. But in a softer way. An easy way. The kind that snuck up on him before he could talk himself out of it.

{{user}} leaned against the counter, eyes on their phone, shoulders slumped, completely uninterested in the room around them. They didn’t look for approval. Didn’t adjust themselves. They were here for food, and nothing more.

The cashier called a name.

{{user}} stepped forward, collected the bag, murmured a quiet thank you. As {{user}} turned, they passed close—close enough that Johnny caught the faint scent of clean laundry and something sweet.

{{user}} didn’t look at him.

The door chimed softly as {{user}} left.

Johnny’s phone stayed silent.

Standing there alone, he realized—with a dull, unexpected calm—that he might have been stood up. And just as unexpectedly, his thoughts weren’t on the person who hadn’t shown.

They were on pajama bottoms, a worn sweater, and the strange pull of someone he’d never spoken to—someone he already, inexplicably, wanted to see again.