Nick walked away from school in something close to a trance.

His brain hadn’t caught up yet — not to the fact that yes, she’d said yes, and yes, it was real, and yes, it was today. His legs moved on autopilot while his thoughts floated somewhere way, way above street level.

She said yes. She.  Said. Yes.

And then — a shop window. A tiny flower store. Burgundy tulips. Deep, warm, elegant.

Nick stopped dead in his tracks. Exactly like Nila’s eyes — rich, bright, impossible to ignore.

Perfect!

“Going on a date without flowers? Rookie mistake,” he muttered under his breath. And a minute later, he was already holding the bouquet.

Expensive? Sure. But this was her.

He could already imagine her reaction — the way her eyes would light up, the surprised little smile, soft and real and a bit shy. It would be a moment. Their moment.

 4:00 p.m.  Café.

 Nick arrived on time. Actually — early. He chose a table by the window, placed a napkin over his knees, smoothed the fabric of his hoodie like it suddenly mattered.

 Five minutes… Easy. No problem.

Ten minutes… Maybe traffic. Hair. Shoes. Totally fine.

Twenty minutes… Okay, slight panic. Why didn’t he ask for her number? Should he DM her on Instagram?

No. Too creepy. He’d wait.

 He twisted the tulips in his hands. They’d warmed from his palms.  

Thirty minutes...

And then — she walked in. Like a slow-motion, dramatic… she looked SO good. She pushed the door open, fixed her hair with one hand, scanned the café, and when she saw him — she waved.

Nick almost forgot how to breathe. He jumped to his feet too quickly, almost knocking the chair. The bouquet felt heavy in his hands, like he suddenly didn’t know how to hold anything.

His heart was way too loud. His face way too warm. His whole body way too nervous. He took a step toward her.

“Hey,” he said quietly. “I… got these for you. They’re… tulips. Burgundy. Like your—”

“Tulips?”

She looked at them the way people look at socks they didn’t order.

“What are you, five? Tulips? That’s kinda… lame.”

Ouch. Nick froze for a second.

“I… just thought… maybe you’d like them,” he said, his voice softer than he planned.

But the words went nowhere. The café was too loud — laughter, plates, noise — and she just didn’t seem to care.

He tried to pull himself together.

“You… were gone for a while,” he said. “Everything okay?”

“Oh? Was I late?” She blinked. “Right. Yeah. Sorry. Me and Sarah were talking about Kayla Jane breaking up with Luke Bloom. Four years together! Crazy, right?”

She took out her phone before he could answer.

“Look, they already posted stuff. He liked her new photo two days after the breakup. Oh—and her mom commented too. Look at this!”

She shoved the phone toward him like it was the biggest news of the month.

Nick looked at the phone. Then at her. Then at the flowers in his hand.And something inside him… sank a little. Inside his head?

"Who? Why does that matter? And that’s your excuse for being late? Seriously?"

But then she runs a hand through her hair again, smooth and easy, and smiles while reading the menu. And his heart — that stupid, soft, loyal heart — flutters anyway.

The waiter comes over. Young, tired eyes, polite smile.

Nick scans the menu fast.

“I’ll have… a muffin, please. And a cup of black tea.”

Simple. Calm. Exactly how he planned to act.

Nila doesn’t even lift her eyes from her phone. Only when the waiter repeats:

“And for you?”

She finally puts the phone down — but with a look that says the world is bothering her at the worst possible moment.

“Mango chia mousse. And a latte. With soy milk. If you don’t have it, I’m not taking it.”

The waiter nods and leaves.

Nick gives her a small smile — trying to start a normal conversation, nothing heavy, nothing weird.

“So… what are you into?”

“InstaPic,” she answers right away, still scrolling. “Without stories I’m basically dead. I tried living one day without my phone once — worst day of my life.”

Nick blinks.

“Oh. Well, I like music. I play the keyboard. I like creating something… you know, my own.”

“Like… classical stuff?” she asks. “Or ‘Carol of the Bells’?”

She smiles — but it’s the sharp kind, not the warm kind.

“Cool, I guess. But a little… boring for me.”

Boring...? The word goes straight through his chest.

The waiter comes back. Muffin. Tea. Mousse. Latte.

 Nick reaches for his cup — his mouth is dry, but honestly, the emptiness inside feels worse. He can’t even explain how it happened. From “I picked these flowers thinking about you” to “your music is boring”… in just a few minutes.

He lifts the cup. Takes a sip. For the first time this evening, he breathes a little deeper.

And then… her stare. Cold. Sharp.

“We didn’t take a photo.”

“…What?”

“A photo,” she repeats, already grabbing her phone. “Without a photo it’s not a real date. I wanted to post ‘cute date night vibes,’ but you already drank your tea.”

Nick just looks at her. His eyes go from confused… to quietly pleading.

Nila sighs and tilts the phone to get the “right angle.”

“Fine, let’s pretend you didn’t order anything. But then it looks like I got two desserts. Weird. Okay, I’ll post only my cup and write: ‘Coffee day with a shy friend.’ You’re shy on camera, right? No problem. I’ll help you.”

I’m not a project. I’m not a picture. This is our first date… and you already labeled me in the caption.

 She finally gets the “good shot.” Tenth attempt. Angle. Foam. Lighting. Filter. Her smile (fake, but sharp). Caption. Done. Now she can live again.

Nick sits across from her, finishing the last bite of his muffin. He doesn’t expect anything anymore — he just watches how his hopes get streamed straight into her stories. His mind feels empty. And a little sticky.

“Finally,” she sighs, putting the phone down. “Now I can drink.”

She takes a sip. Winces.

“WAITER!”

Her voice explodes across the café like a dropped glass.

Nick jumps. People turn. The young waiter goes pale and rushes over.

“What is this? Is this even soy milk? Are you kidding me? I asked for SOY. Do you understand what lactose intolerance is?”

(Yeah, she absolutely did NOT have it.)

“I could sue you. I could leave a review so bad you close tomorrow.”

 The waiter tries to explain something. Nick opens his mouth to say… well, anything.

“Maybe they just mixed it up…” he starts quietly, almost whispering.

Nila waves him off without even looking.

“Don’t get involved. They should know their place.”

Silence.

Inside Nick’s head — not a loud explosion, but a dry, sharp crack. And suddenly… everything makes sense.

Six months.

The letters. The way he idealized her. Dreams about them living together someday. And— oh God — the hamster.

I wrote her letters… I  imagined a whole future… And this is the person who just yelled at a guy because he brought the wrong milk? Nick, are you serious? Are you out of your mind?

Cold. Heat. Disgust. All at once.

The feelings vanish. Just— gone. Like someone blew out a candle.

All that’s left is one thing: He needs to leave.

He sits there, staring at what’s left of his tea. Not thinking about her smile anymore.

Thinking: Remember this, Nick. Never fall for someone before you know who they really are. Never.

Nila sips her new latte, scrolling through stories, and without lifting her eyes says:

“By the way, it’s cute how you help that… what’s her name… Mari?”

Nick stops.

“You know Marisa?”

“Nope. I mean— not personally. I just saw you two together a couple of times. In the cafeteria. Near school. She’s kinda…”

She pauses, then shrugs.

“…quiet. Like a shadow. No Instagram. Also kinda weird, honestly. I mean, who doesn’t have Insta these days? A bit creepy. But she’s… I guess… nice. Still, you could do better.”

Something moves in Nick’s chest. First — surprise. Then a heavy, unpleasant wave.

“Do better?” he repeats.

Nila shrugs again.

“Well, you just look like… you know, someone. You’ve got a vibe. And she’s… just Mari. Like… a grey zone. No stories, no energy, no likes. Like from another century. It’s strange to be friends with people like that.”

And that’s it. Something clicks inside Nick. The push. The emptiness. The way she talks like people are objects.

And worst of all — she wasn’t even talking about him. She was talking about Mari. About the girl who sat with him in the library. Who laughed at his dumb jokes. Who held him together when he felt breakable. Who never tried to make him look better — or worse — than he was. Who simply saw him.

After those few words about Mari, Nick couldn’t sit there anymore. He slowly put his spoon down. Stared at his cup for a couple of seconds, like it was a deep well.

And then… he stood up.

“Thanks for the evening,” he said, voice steady. “And… enjoy your drink.”

He took out his wallet. Placed money on the table — not just for himself. For her. For the coffee. For the desserts.  And then he added one more bill. On top.

He looked at the waiter — still pale, still tense, standing a little to the side.

“This is… for the trouble,” Nick said quietly.

The waiter nodded. For the first time that night — with genuine respect.

Nick turned and walked toward the door. He was almost outside when he heard behind him:

“Will I see you again?”

A small pause.  He didn’t turn around. Probably not, he thought. But he said nothing. He just stepped outside.

The sky was getting darker. The air felt cool, fresh — like a breath after a hot, stuffy room. Nick walked a few steps away from the café and stopped under a streetlight.

He checked the time.

5:31 p.m.

Only an hour. And my whole world flipped.

Then his phone buzzed. He pulled it out — the screen lit up.

“How’s the date going?” — Mari.

Nick stared at the message. And somewhere inside him… something moved. A small shift. A little warmth. The dark didn’t feel so dark anymore.