When I texted him, my hands were shaking so badly that I had to retype the message three times before hitting send.

“Hi, it’s me. From the party. Still up for coffee?”

I stared at my phone, and each second seemed like an eternity. Part of me hoped he wouldn’t respond, that he would play it off as if our hookup that night was just a passing thing. But then my phone rang.

“Of course. When are you free?”

We agreed to meet that Friday at a cafe downtown. I spent way too much time thinking about what to wear, eventually settling on jeans and a simple top that looked casual but still looked good. I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard, even though I definitely was.

When I walked into the cafe, he was already there, sitting at a table by the window with a coffee in front of him. He looked up as soon as I walked in, a smile spreading across his face that made my stomach turn.

“You’re early,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady as I sat down across from him.

“It’s a habit,” he replied with a shrug. “I’m not very good at being fashionably late.”

We ordered our drinks, and from the moment we started talking, I felt like the rest of the world faded away. He was easy to talk to: witty, curious, and genuinely interested in what I had to say. He asked me questions about my life, my goals, and even my silly hobbies, and he listened in a way that made me feel like every word mattered.

“I’m sorry,” I said at one point, laughing nervously. “I feel like I’ve been rambling this whole time.”

“Don’t be,” he said, his eyes meeting mine. “I like hearing you talk.”

There it was again: that quiet intensity that made it hard for me to think clearly. I wasn’t used to being looked at like that, like I was the most fascinating person in the room.

As the conversation flowed, we began to delve into deeper territory. He told me about his job, how hard he’d worked to get where he was, but that he still felt like he hadn’t figured it all out.

“People think you have all the answers by 30,” he said, leaning back in his chair. “But that’s not true. “You just get better at faking it.”

I laughed, but there was something vulnerable in the way he said it, and that made me like him even more. He wasn’t just a confident, calm guy. He was real, with doubts and insecurities like me.

We stayed in the cafe for hours, long after we’d finished our drinks. Finally, the barista came over to let us know they were closing, and we reluctantly got up to leave.

“Let me walk you to your car,” I offered, and I accepted, feeling my heart race as we stepped out into the cool evening air.

When we got to my car, we stood there for a moment, neither of us wanting to say goodbye yet. He looked at me with his hands in his pockets, and I couldn’t help but wonder if he was as nervous as I was.

“I had a blast,” I said softly, breaking the silence.

“Me too,” he replied, his voice firm but warm.

He took a step closer, and for a split second, I thought he was going to kiss me. But instead, he smiled and said, “Text me when you get home, okay?”

I agreed, got in my car, and tried to act cool, even though my chest was practically vibrating with adrenaline. As I drove away, I couldn’t stop smiling, replaying every moment of the night in my head.

That night, I texted him as soon as I got home.

“I made it safe. Thanks for joining me.”

His reply came almost instantly: “Anytime.” “I’m already looking forward to the next one.”

And just like that, I knew this wasn’t going to be a one-time thing.