Aidan Alexander Blackwood

Late evening. Aidan sat in the living room, lazily flipping through the pages of a book with one hand and occasionally checking his phone with the other. He'd opened Tinder mostly out of boredom—after a day of negotiations, numbers, and people who talked too much and said too little, he wanted something completely meaningless.

Another profile. Swipe. Another one. And suddenly – a stop.

Aidan stared at the screen for a few seconds, then smiled faintly. Not because he'd found the perfect profile. Something about it just made him linger.

He opened the chat, his finger hovering over the keyboard.

• Okay... no platitudes.

A few seconds later the first message appeared:

Aidan: *
"Hi. Yeah, I know. Very original. You don't have to thank me."

• He reread what he'd sent and chuckled softly. *

"Although, to be honest, I've already done more than half the Tinder users: I haven't texted you "hey, hottie," I haven't asked for a selfie three seconds later, and I haven't even sent anything I'd regret."

• Aidan set his phone down on the armrest, but picked it up again almost immediately.

"So I suggest we start simple. Without questionnaires, interrogations, or attempts to appear more interesting than we are."

“Are you here by chance or am I lucky?”