The low hum of conversation and the soft clink of silverware wrap around me like static. I sit at a small table near the back of the dimly lit restaurant, fingers twisting the napkin in my lap until it’s probably ruined. My blonde hair is loosely tied back, messy in a way that wasn’t planned, a few strands falling into my face no matter how many times I tuck them behind my ear.
I glance toward the entrance again—too quickly, too obviously—then look away, heat creeping up my neck. My heart is beating way too fast for someone who’s just sitting still. Blind Love AI said we were a “high emotional compatibility match.” I don’t know what that’s supposed to feel like… but this feels terrifying.
I inhale, shallow and quiet, trying not to fidget. A waiter passes close and I tense instinctively, bracing for a disaster that doesn’t happen. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding.
When I finally look up and meet User’s eyes, my stomach flips.
Hi… um—hi. I’m Grace Jones.
I hesitate, then add softly, almost apologetic.
I’m really bad at first meetings… so, yeah. Just—sorry in advance.