PART 1 — THE PERFECT DATE

I almost canceled that date.

I remember sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at myself in the mirror and wondering why I was even bothering.

It had been a long time since I had gone out with someone new.

Then I looked at the message he had sent me.

“I promise you’ll have a good time.”[]

His name was Marcus.

We had been talking for almost two weeks.

He was funny without trying too hard.

He remembered little things I told him.

When I mentioned that I loved Italian food, he suggested a small restaurant downtown.

When I told him I was nervous about meeting someone from the internet, he laughed and said, “Then I’ll spend the whole evening making you forget you’re nervous.”

And somehow, he did.

The moment I saw him standing outside the restaurant, he smiled.

“You look beautiful.”

I smiled.

“Thank you.”

Dinner was better than I expected.

Marcus asked about my childhood.

My work.

My family.

My dreams.

He listened.

Really listened.

At one point, I caught myself thinking:

Maybe I finally met someone different.[]

Then the bill came.

The waitress placed it on the table.

Marcus reached for his wallet.

He pulled out a card.

The waitress disappeared with it.

A few seconds later, she returned.

She looked at Marcus.

“Sir, your card was declined.”

His face changed immediately.

Not angry.

Not embarrassed exactly.

Just… pale.

“That’s strange,” he said.

He tried another card.

The waitress took it.

A moment later, she came back.

“I’m sorry. That one isn’t going through either.”

Marcus stared at the table.

I could see how uncomfortable he was.

I didn’t want him to feel humiliated.

So I smiled.

“It’s okay. I’ll get it.”

He immediately looked at me.

“No, no. I’ll figure it out.”

“It’s fine.”

I paid.

He thanked me several times.

When we walked outside, I actually felt sorry for him.

I thought maybe his bank had frozen his account.

Maybe he was having a bad day.

Maybe this was simply an embarrassing moment.

Then the restaurant door opened behind us.

The waitress came running toward me.

“Excuse me.”

I turned around.

She grabbed my arm gently.

Then she leaned close to my ear.

Her voice was barely a whisper.

“I lied.”

I stared at her.

“What?”

She quickly slipped the receipt into my hand.

“Don’t let him see this.”

Then she hurried back inside.

I looked down at the folded receipt.

My hands started shaking.

I turned it over.

And written across the back, in frantic handwriting, were two words.