I almost bailed. Seriously. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, one sneaker on, staring at the ceiling and trying to formulate a text that sounded apologetic but vague enough to avoid questions. I had been chatting with this guy, David, on amourmeet for about a week. The conversations were good—surprisingly good—but the transition from screen to reality always feels like jumping into cold water.

My skepticism is usually my safety net. I assume photos are ten years old, or that "funny" in a bio translates to "loud and obnoxious" in person. But something about the way David messaged made me pause. He didn't use cheesy pickup lines. He didn't push for a meeting immediately. He just asked about my chaotic attempts to bake sourdough bread. So, I put on the second sneaker. I grabbed my coat. I went.

We agreed on a walk in the city park. Low stakes. If it was terrible, I could claim I had a dentist appointment or that I forgot to feed a non-existent cat.

It was a gray Tuesday afternoon. The kind of weather where the sky looks like wet concrete and everyone walks a little faster to get out of the wind. I saw him near the old fountain. He was wearing a scarf that looked itchy and holding two cups of coffee. The first thing I noticed? He looked exactly like his profile pictures. That shouldn't be a high bar, but in modern dating, it felt like a minor miracle.

"I didn't know if you drank oat milk or regular," he said, holding out a cup. "So I got black coffee and brought packets of everything."

I took the cup. It was warm, heating my cold fingers. "Black is fine," I lied, because I was too nervous to fiddle with sugar packets.

We started walking. For the first ten minutes, we talked about the weather. It was the driest, most cliché conversation possible, and yet, it wasn't painful. There was no desperate attempt to impress. He didn't try to sell me on his career or his gym routine. He pointed out a dog wearing a raincoat that matched its owner’s jacket. We laughed. It was a genuine, quiet laugh.

The path crunched under our feet. We looped around the pond where the ducks were fighting over a piece of bread. I found myself relaxing, my shoulders dropping away from my ears. I realized I hadn't checked my phone once.

On previous dates, I usually felt like I was in a job interview. I had to be the Fun Girl, the Smart Girl, the Girl Who Is Chill. With David, I was just... me. The me that trips over tree roots (which happened twice). The me that has strong opinions about which pasta shape is superior.

We sat on a bench near the exit as the sun started to dip, turning the gray sky a bruised purple.

"I'm glad you came," he said. He didn't lean in for a movie-moment kiss. He just looked at me, and his eyes were kind.

"Me too," I said, and for the first time in a long time, I meant it.

There were no fireworks. The earth didn't shake. It was just a Tuesday. But walking back to my car, I felt a steady, comfortable rhythm in my chest. I didn't delete the bookmark for the site when I got home. instead, I logged in to send a simple message: "Thanks for the coffee. Next time, I'm bringing the donuts."

Sometimes, you don't need magic. You just need someone who brings sugar packets just in case.