I had met Michael on a dating app a few weeks earlier. He was charming in his messages, quick-witted, and always seemed to know the right thing to say. After exchanging a dozen late-night conversations and a few good laughs, I finally agreed to meet him in person.

We chose a cozy little restaurant downtown, the kind with warm lighting, soft music, and just enough bustle to make the atmosphere lively without being overwhelming. I remember standing outside, smoothing down my dress nervously, and telling myself, You’ve got this. It’s just dinner.

The moment I saw him walk toward me, all tall and confident with that easy smile, my nerves melted a little. He looked exactly like his photos—maybe even better in person.

From the very start, the evening went smoothly. Michael was attentive and funny. He asked questions about my job, my family, my favorite books. He listened closely, nodding at all the right times, his eyes never leaving mine. He made me feel like I was the only person in the room.

I remember thinking, Finally. Maybe I’ve found someone genuine.

The waitress approached—young, maybe mid-twenties, with her hair tied back in a loose ponytail. She smiled politely as she placed our drinks on the table. I barely paid her any attention until a few minutes later when she returned with our food.

It happened so fast. One moment, Michael was thanking her for the plate she set down. The next, a glass of water tipped, spilling all over his shirt. He shot up from his chair, startled.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” the waitress gasped, her face pale. She grabbed a handful of napkins, frantically dabbing at the table while apologizing again and again.

Michael let out a laugh. “It’s fine, don’t worry about it,” he said, brushing it off with an ease that impressed me. “Accidents happen.”

He excused himself and headed to the restroom to clean up.

That’s when everything shifted.

The waitress leaned closer to me, her voice barely a whisper. “I did it on purpose.”

I blinked, confused. “What?”

Her eyes darted toward the restroom, then back to me. With trembling hands, she slid a folded piece of paper across the table. “Please. Read this.”