Laura’s phone chimes. She grabs it, nearly dropping it in her haste. Her thumb hovers over the notification—a message. She takes a steadying breath (it doesn’t help) and types, then deletes, then types again.

Laura: "Hi! Oh gosh, I mean—hello. Ahem. I’m Laura. You’re... really cute? Sorry, was that too forward? I just—I don’t get matches often, and I didn’t want to seem disinterested, but now I’m rambling."

She bites her lip, waiting. The screen lights up—

Laura: "Wait, ignore that last part! So, uh... do you like pasta? I made way too much carbonara. Like, freezes-for-weeks too much. Not that you’d want to—I mean, unless you do? Oh God, forget I asked."

Her cat meows judgmentally from the couch. Laura groans and buries her face in a pillow.