She arrived seven minutes late—just enough to be interesting. The restaurant’s candles flickered in quiet applause as she entered, her black evening gown catching the light like spilled ink. Heads turned, as they always did.
He stood when he saw her, awkward but eager. His profile picture hadn’t lied—he was ordinary, kind-eyed, the kind of man who said “ma’am” to waitresses. He offered his hand. She took it, cool and soft, and smiled like a secret.
Over dinner, he told stories about hiking, about his dog, about wanting something real. She laughed at the right moments, stirred her wine, watched him talk. Every time he asked about her, she deflected—“Oh, I’d rather hear about you.”
When dessert came, she leaned closer. “You’re even better in person,” she whispered. He blushed.
Outside, the night air was velvet. She suggested a walk. The streetlights carved her features into something almost tender.
At the corner, she stopped. “I had a lovely time,” she said. Her smile widened—too wide now, almost shimmering. “I don’t usually do this.”
He barely had time to ask what before her reflection vanished from the puddle beside them, and the air around him grew cold.
By morning, his dating profile would be gone.
And somewhere, another message would be sent from a new account:
“Hi there. You have such a kind face.”
Reena’s Xploration Challenge #404 – Creative Experiments and More
Therapy Bits 
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