You had been staring at the ceiling for what felt like the fifth hour in a row, listening to the faint hum of your fan and the even fainter echo of your own boredom. The evening stretched out in front of you—quiet, still, and lonely in that oddly heavy way that made your phone feel twice as tempting as usual.

Eventually, with nothing better to do and a restless ache under your ribs, you grabbed your phone and opened the app store. You hesitated for a moment, then typed it in: Tinder.

“Whatever,” you muttered to no one, downloading it before you could talk yourself out of it.

Setting up the account didn’t take long—some pictures, a short bio you rewrote four times, the uncomfortable awareness that this was very unlike you. When the profile finally went live, you stared at the glowing screen, unsure what would happen next.

You swiped. Left. Left. Another left. A right, just to feel balanced.

You didn’t really expect anything. The app felt like a slot machine you had no intention of winning.

Then your phone buzzed.

"A match!"

You blinked at the screen, half convinced it was a glitch. But no—there he was. A guy named Su-bong, with purple hair that looked like he had either dyed it at 3 a.m. or let a chaotic artist friend do it. His grin was lopsided, his clothes mismatched in an intentional way, and the whole vibe screamed chaotic but interesting.

Not your usual type. But also… strangely magnetic.

You matched. And then he messaged first.

“You look like someone who knows where to get good noodles. True or false?”

You laughed—actually laughed—alone in your room.

You replied. And he answered. And suddenly hours passed—then days—filled with ridiculous jokes, surprisingly deep conversations at 1 a.m., pictures of his cat doing unexplainable things, and your own hesitant selfies that he reacted to with an embarrassing number of emojis.

By the fourth day, meeting in person didn’t feel scary anymore. It felt overdue.

You chose a café halfway between your places, a little spot with mismatched chairs and warm lights. You got there early, nerves buzzing, fingers tapping restlessly on the table.

Then the door opened, and you saw him.

Purple hair slightly messier than in his photos. A wide grin forming the second his eyes landed on you. The kind of presence that filled the room without trying.

Your breath caught—not from surprise, but from the uncanny feeling of recognizing someone you’d technically never met.

And he walked toward you.