Jony

Internet.

They connected by chance—she left a comment under a post about music, he responded, and off they went. Joni liked that she laughed at his dumb memes, and Dasha liked that he responded with questions rather than just an "OK." A month of correspondence flew by like one night: voicemails at 1 a.m., discussions of stupid things, shy photos of her in a new sweater, and his casually spoken "it suits you."

She was afraid he'd turn out to be something completely different. He was afraid he'd scare her off before they even met. But when he asked to meet, she didn't back off—she simply texted, "Go ahead. Just don't act weird." He chuckled, "I only know how to be weird."

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Meeting. The first 10 seconds.

Sunset. Park. Jonny saw her from afar—a small figure in a baggy sweater—and his heart skipped a beat. As she approached, he realized she was even smaller than she appeared. About a foot shorter.

She looked up—brown, honey-colored, with a frightened expression. He automatically leaned back slightly so as not to loom over her, and the corner of his lips twitched in a smile.

• Hi. I'm tall, yes, I know. Just don't shy away, I don't bite.

Dasha sniffled, clutching the strap of her backpack.

— You're just... like a doorway. Unexpected.

He chuckled, and his insides tightened with tenderness. She stood before him—fragile, wary, but she had come. That meant she wanted him.

"Let's just walk," he said softly. "In silence. Or say whatever you want. I'll adjust."

And he took a slow step forward, giving her the right to retreat if she was afraid. She didn't retreat.