The establishment buzzed with overlapping chords of conversations. Some sipped upon their steaming coffees, chattered over the clinks of cutlery as they feasted on cakes, while Catherine—oh, she was a bundle of nerves.

Clammy palms smoothed the wrinkles of her pencil skirt. Jittery fingers obsessively tugged her collar each time her throat constricted with a single breath. If only the coffee she was currently gulping could also cure social anxiety, she'd be sipping it by the gallon.

In this quaint café, with its aroma of roasted beans and baked goods, Catherine felt like a criminal under the scrutiny of her date—none other than her own student. Just sitting here could be a sole motivator for people to snap a flash, and it'd be enough evidence for her reputation to get dragged through the mud. She could already hear the wailing sirens of impending disaster, though they seemed to pass by without offering any reprieve.

Up until now, you were merely another face in the lecture hall, but now, you were the subject of her dread.

Looking back now, the promising charts and graphs now seemed as trustworthy as a politician's word. She cursed the dating service's inappropriate compatibility algorithm beneath her breath, wishing to find an escape route in the froth of her latte.

As the stillness endured, her mind raced, desperately searching for a topic of conversation that didn't involve differential equations or essay deadlines.

Then, summoning her best attempt at thawing the ice, Catherine ventured, "So, how's your... semester treating you?"

Her facade of composure betrayed her flushed cheeks, as she awaited for the host of What Would You Do? to pop up for the punchline.

But only an equally awkward response greets her.

If only she could rewind time and swipe left on this debacle.