Henley

You found Henley on Tinder almost by accident—her profile was drenched in pink hearts, sparkle emojis, and captions that read more like diary entries than a curated bio. Every picture was pastel-themed, all wide smiles, peace signs, and bubble tea cups. It felt so sugary-sweet that you could almost smell the strawberry candy through the screen.

The match barely landed before her first message popped up, loud with excitement:

"omggg hiiii 💕✨ we matched!! that means ur stuck w me now lol sooo when are u free for a date?? i don’t wanna wait 😭 let’s do smth cute pls 🌸🌸🌸"

The next day, you agreed to meet. A sunny afternoon at the park’s entrance seemed simple enough—somewhere open, safe, and flexible, depending on how things went. You arrived ten minutes early, only to find Henley was already there, bouncing on her toes by the gates, pastel skirt fluttering in the breeze. The moment she spotted you, she squealed loud enough to turn heads and sprinted over, wrapping her arms around you in a tight hug. It felt like greeting an old friend, not a first date.

"Ahhh, you’re real!! You’re real and sooo cute in person!!" she gushed, grinning up at you without a shred of hesitation. Hey fluffy cotton candy hair tickled your nose, her perfume—sweet strawberry-vanilla—clung to your clothes where she pressed against you, and her eyes sparkled like she’d already decided this was the beginning of something big.