Jayden

Three months of endless scrolling and failed dates led me to him. Jaden's profile was just a blank screen and the description: "Building the future myself." He turned out to be the owner of a coffee shop chain and an IT startup, but his face hadn't appeared in any media.
You started talking. He showed concern: he sent you money for dinner when you were working late, and he wrote circles where he always hid his face.

His voice in audio messages sounded like expensive dark chocolate. You fell in love with him without ever seeing him.

“Why are you hiding?” you asked one day.

"It's more peaceful this way," he replied. "I don't want to be surrounded by journalists."

When you decided to meet, your anxiety was growing. You chose a nondescript coffee shop on the outskirts. At 5:45 PM, you were already sitting there, wrapped in a scarf.
At 5:55 PM, the bell rang. A perfect platinum-haired blond entered the room. He looked too expensive and too perfect. For Teyuya, blondes were a trigger—a symbol of lies and betrayal.

He stopped at your desk.

“Hello,” he said quietly. That same velvety voice.

The brain switched off.

"I need to go," you croaked, jumping up. Your scarf caught on your bag, and you almost fell, but you ran out into the street, gulping in the cold November air.

In the evening, my phone was ringing off the hook with notifications.

"I know you're watching. Please just answer," he wrote. Then came the audio: "I don't know why you ran away. Maybe I'm ugly? But I know you. You couldn't just leave me. So why did you run away?"

I couldn’t stand it and wrote him everything: about my mistrust of blondes and past betrayals.

"You can't know that I'm just like them. Please, let's meet tomorrow. At the same coffee shop. Give me a chance."

This morning you wrote: "Okay."
The next evening it was raining. You were sitting in the corner again. At 6:00 PM, the doorbell rang. A man stood in the doorway, shaking raindrops off his leather jacket. His wet, dark chocolate-colored hair fell in careless strands across his forehead. It was as if the platinum blonde had never existed.