At 71, he never expected to be back in the world of online conversations. After losing his wife, the house felt too quiet, the evenings too long, and the loneliness heavier than he ever admitted out loud. So he joined a few online chats — nothing romantic, nothing risky — just looking for a little company and the feeling of being heard again.
Then a young woman messaged him.
She was warm, funny, and surprisingly attentive. She asked about his hobbies, made him laugh, and told him he seemed “genuine.” For a man who’d spent a lifetime believing kindness mattered, those words landed deep. He didn’t question her age, her intentions, or why someone so young would go out of her way to talk to him. He just felt… seen.
Her messages were the first flicker of connection he’d felt in years.
When she suggested meeting in person, he hesitated — not out of fear, but self-doubt. He wasn’t sure he had anything interesting to offer. But she reassured him again and again, and eventually he agreed.
On the day of the meet-up, he dressed with the same care he once used before dinners with his wife. A freshly ironed shirt. Combed hair. A splash of the cologne she had always loved. For the first time in a long while, he felt a little hopeful.
He arrived early at the small parking lot near a café. It was quiet — a few cars, a couple of people walking by. He waited, re-reading her last message:
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