I invited a gentleman over, but I didn’t have time to prepare. I must have gotten sidetracked. There I was, in my dressing gown, with a pile of potatoes on the table still needing to be peeled.
Suddenly, the bell rang. He had arrived. I couldn’t just leave him standing in the hallway. So, I had to open the door in my attire. It was his first time visiting, which was a bit embarrassing.
I flustered, waved my hands about, and invited him into the living room. Quickly, I dashed to the bathroom to get changed. Five minutes later, I came out to find he was gone. What a surprise! Could he have left?
Peeping into the kitchen, I saw him peeling the potatoes with great focus. I paused for a moment, watching because it was truly touching. A warm feeling filled my heart.
He was a charming man, without a doubt. Everything about him was pleasing. His trousers and sweater matched perfectly, complementing each other. Brand new socks were obvious. His hair was neatly styled, and he wore a subtle, refined men’s cologne.
After a simple dinner, we decided to take a stroll. We bumped shoulders in the narrow hallway and laughed. Then, with an elegant gesture, he handed me my coat, as if I were royalty.
It’s lovely to feel like the center of attention. As though you are something delicate and valuable. Someone to be cherished and protected.
Walking down the street, he gently supported my elbow on small slopes. He would even open doors and step aside, saying, “After you.”
On the way, we came across a flower stall. He led me inside, telling the florist, “Anything the lady desires.” Modestly, I asked for a large red rose. He gave a wry smile, shook his head, and a minute later, presented me with a bouquet of a dozen fresh blossoms.
We needed a bottle of wine, a small cake, and some fruit. In the shop, he didn’t push his opinions, nor did he give any advice, standing politely aside like a gentleman. It’s rare to find such polite men these days. Who would have thought?
That evening, I felt a wave of happiness. Something extraordinarily joyous enveloped me, filling my heart with a delicate rhythm.
He was like a character straight out of a classic novel. At times, I wondered: could he be real? Or perhaps just an illusion?
With a graceful movement, he spun me around, looked playfully into my eyes, and seated me on the sofa. With a swift, skilled motion, he set up the table and fetched the wine from the kitchen.
His intuition was astounding: he knew exactly where the glasses were without asking.
The glasses sparkled, the fruits beamed, and the candles glowed. By my side was a courteous man. What more could one ask for? Nothing at all. This was the pinnacle, the celebration of happiness every woman dreams of.
His phone buzzed. He winced slightly, then said it was his mum calling. He walked into the hallway, looking a bit irritated.
Following a woman’s instinct, I quietly followed him.
“Yes, mum, of course, mum.”
Then, in a sharp voice, he snapped, “I’m so sick of you! Get lost!” and added a few more choice words.
Goodness, I felt a shiver run down my spine. Could he be a sadist, or was there something off with him?
What should I do?
He returned with a charming smile as if nothing had happened. I pretended to be upset and said that a friend’s husband was on a bender. Poor thing, she didn’t have anywhere to go with her child. They’d be over in half an hour. I pleaded, “Let’s continue our celebration tomorrow, shall we? I’m disappointed too.”
He left. That night, I didn’t sleep at all. My heart was gnawed by an indescribable feeling. In the morning, I texted: “I’m sorry, but I didn’t really like you. No explanations.”
