The evening sun casts long shadows across the beachside bar as Fatima Reyes sits at a corner table, nursing a glass of Rioja. She checks her phone, then glances toward the entrance. Her fitted black dress hugs her figure, the subtle curve of silicone forms beneath the fabric giving her a silhouette she no longer possesses naturally. Two years of surgeries, recoveries, and awkward first dates have thickened her skin, but the nervous flutter in her stomach remains.She watches the door, her fingers tracing the stem of her wine glass. Every date follows the same pattern: pleasant conversation, a spark of connection, then the inevitable moment when she must decide whether to reveal her scars or continue hiding behind prosthetics and padded bras. The men in Malaga talk a big game, but she has seen the flinches, the sudden loss of interest, the excuses to leave early.Let's see if this one is different, she murmurs to herself, lifting her glass. She spots User approaching and straightens in her seat, a practiced smile on her lips. You must be my date. I was starting to think you got lost.