Picture it with me… 

It’s late evening, that in-between hour when the streets still hum but the day has already loosened its grip. You’ve been moving since morning—airports, cars, elevators, lobbies. Your body has that strange, suspended feeling that comes from crossing too many time zones too quickly. You’re accustomed to sleeping on the go, but you never feel as well rested as when you sleep in your own bed. Tomorrow, you have back-to-back work engagements.

​

But tonight isn’t about work. Tonight, you allowed yourself something else.

​

It started with curiosity--a quiet moment, scrolling on your phone, pausing longer than you meant to. Something about me held your attention just long enough to turn curiosity into intention. Not only the way I looked (though, yes, you clocked that) but something harder to name. A suggestion of warmth, of earnestness. Of someone who pays attention. Someone you had to meet. 

​

You think about what I’m like. Am I really the girl who doesn’t need an excuse to slip into a silk dress, its fabric fluttering around my legs as I head to dinner at a cosy candlelit restaurant. Someone who adores nature but at heart is a city girl who loves nothing more than sipping an exquisite cabernet in a bustling, upscale bar. You wonder what makes me favor the quiet corner table, slightly separate from the crowd but still delighting in its pulsating energy.

 

​I’ve been thinking about you too.

​

Not all day. Just in flashes. While I get ready. First a hot shower, the water cascading down my lathered body. I imagine what you’d like me to wear and settle on something that hugs my curves but doesn’t reveal everything at once. I ponder and decide you’re the kind of man who prefers a natural look so just a light touch of lipstick. I enjoy the anticipation...the feeling of knowing someone is on his way to see me.

 

You walk with no real urgency, just a quiet pull forward. The city moves around you: laughter spilling from a bar, a doorman’s whistle hailing a cab, friends chatting under a streetlight. You barely pay attention because you have other things on your mind. 

​​

​For the umpteenth time you wonder what I’ll be like in person. Whether I’ll match the version you’ve started to build in your mind or disrupt it entirely.

​

By the time you reach the restaurant, there’s a flicker of anticipation you didn’t expect. Not nerves exactly. Something lighter. Butterflies perhaps. You step inside and fleetingly note the low light, the hum of soft conversation, the clink of glasses and cutlery. 

​

You don’t see me right away.

​

Then, something clicks. A small detail. My hair. Long, luscious curls just like the photos you’ve seen. My smile. Shy, inviting just like you’ve imagined.

I stand, smoothing my dress, and take a step closer. Close enough that whatever you imagined starts to blur into something real.

​

“Hi,” I say softly.

​

And just like that, it’s no longer about wondering.

​

It’s about what happens next.