Café Arts had fairy lights in mason jars, exposed brick walls, and a jazz playlist that made you feel like you were in a movie where nothing tragic ever happened. Honestly? It was kinda cute.
I sat by the window, pretending to scroll through comments while silently dreading this whole "set-up by parents" situation.
"Just go, Adhira," my mom had said. "One dinner. He's nice. He's smart. Not a single piercing."
Honestly, that last bit sounded like a threat.
But I came anyway—because curiosity, boredom, and maybe a little hunger.
A shadow crossed the table. I looked up.
"Hi," the boy said, smiling. "Are you Adhira?"
He was definitely not a piercing guy.
Neat hair, polite posture, button-down shirt—like he knew this was a parent-approved audition. But his smile didn't feel forced. It was easy. Honest.
"Yep, that's me," I said, standing to shake his hand. "And you're…?"
"Vihaan," he said. "Nice to meet you."
We sat down.
He asked about my page, but not in a weird or fake way. Just curious.
"So what's the best and worst part about being, like… followed by thousands of people?" he asked, sipping his iced Americano.
"The best is free skincare," I said immediately. "The worst is never knowing if someone actually likes you or just wants clout."
He nodded thoughtfully. "That makes sense. But for the record—I didn't know who you were until Mom showed me your profile. And she only picked that because you smiled in your pictures."
"Wow," I smirked. "So I was selected for my teeth?"
He grinned. "And maybe the captions."
Okay, fair.
The food was surprisingly good. The conversation even better.
He didn't try to impress me. He didn't make it weird. He was just a guy who liked photography, was mildly afraid of cats, and had once tripped onstage during a school play. I told him about falling off a hoverboard during a live and ending up in a compilation of influencer fails.
We laughed a lot.
And I didn't check my phone even once.
By the time dessert came—chocolate tart for him, mango sorbet for me—I realized I was actually enjoying myself.
This didn't feel like a forced dinner or some awkward date my mom arranged.
It felt light.
Nice.
Something beginning, maybe.
And I didn't hate that.