It was a regular day.
Bench. Park. Pigeons with personal issues.
He sat there, the kind of man who looked like he’d just realized his Wi-Fi password was actually his ex’s birthday.
He wasn’t waiting for anyone. He wasn’t even thinking.
Just… existing. Like a sad philosophical potato.
Then—she appeared.
Tall. Stunning. The kind of woman who probably drinks cucumber water and meditates before yelling at her barista for the wrong almond milk.
She stopped right in front of him, leaned down to tie her shoe, and time froze.
Literally, you could hear the universe gasp.
BOOM. 
Cupid didn’t just shoot him—he launched a tactical romance missile directly into his emotional hard drive.
His soul did a triple backflip.
He looked at her like she was the final level in a game he didn’t know he’d been playing his whole life.
In his head, they were already married. Two kids. One cat.
He could see it: Sunday mornings, arguing about plant-based bacon, laughing in slow motion while throwing pancakes at each other.
This wasn’t a woman. This was destiny in yoga pants.
So he stood up.
He was going to say something brave. Something poetic. Something that rhymed, maybe.
…and then—
Another girl walked by. Just a normal one. Hoodie. Earbuds. No celestial glow.
She stopped, looked at him like he’d just tried to order sushi at a hardware store, and tapped him on the shoulder:
“Bro. Sit down. You’re not in a perfume commercial.”
And just like that—she walked off.
He blinked.
Sat back down.
Still a little in love.
Mostly confused.
Extremely single.
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