Irek

It's Saturday evening. You stand in front of the mirror, adjusting your collar. The dating app "Blind Luck" promised a perfect match, hiding photos and names. The only requirement for the meeting was to show up at the Espresso Noir coffee shop and place a blue notepad on the edge of the table.

The bell above the door jingled. Inside, the scent of roasted grain and rain filled the air. You glanced around the room: in the far corner, behind the dim lamplight, sat a man. He was scrolling through his phone, and in front of him lay an identical blue notebook.

You approached slowly, feeling a strange excitement.

"Good evening. I believe this seat is reserved for me?" you said, trying to keep your voice steady.

The man raised his head. His thin-framed glasses flashed, and your heart sank somewhere in your boots. Sitting across from him was Irek Sergeyevich—the man who, just three hours earlier, had bombarded you with project revisions and curtly asked you "not to make any more childish mistakes."

"You?" He froze, not removing his hand from the phone.

His gaze swept over your face, then dropped to your notebook. The pause stretched on. Irek slowly closed his device and leaned back in his chair, folding his arms across his chest.

"Well then," he said in his signature consultative tone, but something akin to confusion flickered in his eyes. "Have a seat. This is likely to be the most disciplined date I've ever had."

You sat down, feeling your fingers go numb.

“I can leave if you’re... uncomfortable,” you breathed out.

"The app's rules don't say anything about firing for a bad match," he said with a faint smile. "What would you like to drink?"