I met him on a dating site. He seemed like the man I’d been waiting for: intelligent, polite, with words that could charm and soothe.

We could talk for hours, and I often caught myself smiling at my phone, rereading his messages. He made me feel wanted — special.

When he finally asked me out, I said yes without hesitation. My heart was racing. I chose my best dress, curled my hair, and carefully did my makeup. I believed that evening would change my life.

I entered the restaurant with a hopeful smile, trying to appear confident. But the moment I saw him, everything shifted. He didn’t greet me with warmth or joy — only with a slow, scornful look that ran from head to toe. His eyes were cold, disgusted, as though he were looking at something distasteful.

My hands shook slightly, but I walked over, pretending not to notice. He, however, made no effort to hide his disdain.

“What are you wearing?” he sneered, eyeing my dress. “Your sides are sticking out, your belly’s showing. Doesn’t that disgust you?”

I froze — something inside me cracked.

“I’m wearing the best I have,” I whispered.

He burst into laughter — loud, cruel, drawing everyone’s attention.

“This is your best? God, I don’t even want to imagine what the rest looks like.”

Tears burned in my eyes, but he wasn’t done.

“Why’d you even message me? You think someone like me would date someone like you? Let me be clear — I’m not paying for you. Seeing you in person is already a mistake I regret.”

His voice was loud, sharp, and dripping with contempt — every word designed to humiliate. I could barely recognize him. Was this really the same man who had written about love, dreams, and how much he liked me? The man before me was nothing but cruel and small.

“‘Darling, I miss you… can’t wait to see you,’” he mocked in a high, mocking tone. “So this is what you wanted? For me to see your pitiful face? I’m disgusted just sitting near you!”

Something inside me snapped. The tears vanished — replaced by fury. I refused to let him break me.

Then, without thinking, I acted — and I’ve never regretted it.

A waiter passed by, carrying a tray with a steaming bowl of red, spicy tom yum soup. I grabbed it, and before he could react, I dumped the entire bowl over his head.

He screamed, jumping up and clutching his face, the smell of chili and herbs filling the room. People gasped — and then someone laughed.

I straightened, lifted my chin, and looked him in the eye.

“A man will pay for everything,” I said coldly.

Then I turned, walking out of the restaurant with slow, steady steps — leaving him drenched, humiliated, and surrounded by laughter.