His name was Thomas. On his dating profile, he looked perfectly ordinary for a man of thirty-fivewell-groomed, with nothing bold or extravagant about him. The description was full of grand thoughts: self-awareness, personal growth, and a quest for a genuine, living soul. My experience told me to take notemen who harp on about real women are often just looking for someone convenient, someone wholl never ask for anything and wont dare make demands.
We exchanged messages for several days. Thomas was polite enough, although strange undertones slipped through now and then. He was especially fond of lamenting that, in his opinion, modern women had been ruined by money.
All they want are fancy restaurants, holidays in Ibiza, and the latest iPhones, he wrote. No one cares about the soul anymore, no one wants just to walk and have a proper chat.
As a sensible woman, I noddedinternally, of courseand gently redirected the conversation elsewhere. Who knows, maybe his ex-wife left him homeless or heartbroken. I try not to judge too quickly.
Eventually, he invited me to meet. But there was a catch: outside, it was the depth of winter. Not the sort you imagine, but real English coldminus twenty degrees, biting wind, and the weather forecasters warning people to stay indoors unless absolutely necessary.
Lets meet in Hyde Park, Thomas messaged. We can walk, breathe in the fresh air and get to know each other without all the frills.
Thomas, I replied, its minus twenty out. Well be ice sculptures in ten minutes. Why dont we have a coffee somewhere warm?
His answer was prompt.
I dont go to coffee shops. Thats where women sit waiting to be fed, only interested in a free meal. I need a life partner, someone wholl go through fire and waterand coldwith me. If the main thing for you is for me to splurge two hundred pounds on you, then were not right for each other.
Curiosity took over. I really wanted to meet this purist for relationships, for whom a cup of americano equated to financial subjugation.
Fine, I wrote. The park it isat seven, by the main entrance.
Getting ready wasnt a simple affair. I dug out my thermal underwear, a thick jumper, and finally donned my full ski suit. On my feet went chunky boots, wool socks, and for my head, a proper English winter hat.
Looked in the mirror and saw someone ready to winter on an Arctic ice floe.
Well, Thomas, brace yourself, I winked at my reflection and stepped out into the freezing night.
Punctually at seven, I stood by the gates of Hyde Park. The cold bit at my cheekspractically the only thing left uncovered. The snow squeaked underfoot, and not a single soul was around: normal people, including those infamous kept women, had chosen warmth.
There he wasThomasshivering at the entrance in a threadbare autumn coat. He hopped from foot to foot, blowing desperately on his hands. His nose had taken on a deep plum hue, his ears glowed red.
I approached.
Evening, I said, muffled by my scarf.
He looked me over, expecting, no doubt, a dainty fairy in tights, shivering prettily so he could play the hero. Instead, he faced someone more suited to a survival expedition.
Oh. You prepared well, he chattered.
You said fire, waterand I thought Id start with cold, I replied with a grin. Well then, shall we walk and watch each others souls?
Fifteen Minutes of Glory
We sauntered down the path. This walk quickly claimed its place among the strangest dates of my life.
How do you like the weather? I asked, ever so proper.
Its invigorating, he managed. His face barely moved, only his lipsturning bluestill functioning. I love winter. It tests your mettle.
Amen to that, I nodded. But tell meabout kept women. Why, exactly, is coffee a sign of corruption?
Talking hurthis throat stung from the coldbut his convictions required sacrifice.
Because he trembled, relationships should be about genuine interestnot money. If a girl cant just go for a walk and immediately demands feeding, shes a consumer.
And if she just doesnt want to catch pneumonia? I asked, adjusting my hood.
Thats just excuses, he snapped, sniffing loudly. If you really want something, you find a waydress warmer.
Well, I did, I said, gesturing at my bulky figure. Looks like you didnt, though. Sure youre not freezing?
Im fine! he snapped back, though his whole body was visibly shaking, even in the dim light.
A few more minutes went by, and we reached the central square of the park. A closed coffee kiosk stood there. Thomas eyed it with longing, worthy of a tragic hero.
Maybe we ought to head back? he suggested. The winds getting worse.
Surely not! I brightened. Weve only just started. You wanted depth. Lets talk literature. Youre a fan of Jack London? He wrote To Build a Fireabout a man who froze to death because he underestimated the cold.
The way he looked at me had nothing to do with soul-searching.
Listen, I need to go, he interrupted. Just rememberedIve got urgent business.
What business? We planned the evening.
Work. Forgot to send a report.
At eight on a Friday night?
Yes! he nearly yelled.
He spun round and almost ran toward the park exit. I followed, enjoying the moment: my rugged survivor lasted exactly fifteen minutes.
At the Tube, he didnt even say goodbyejust vanished into the welcoming warmth below. I hope he thawed more than just frozen limbs down theremaybe even some of his beliefs. Though I doubt it.
I went home, brewed a hot tea and deleted our messages. I didnt regret the time spent. Those fifteen minutes made for a perfect inoculation against guiltand a reminder: caring for yourself doesnt make you a kept woman.As I curled up under my thick blanket, mug in hand, the absurdity of the evening made me laugh out loud. On my phone, a dating app notification blinked: another message, another possibility. I stared at it for a moment, considering. Oh, why not? If nothing else, Id gained something tonighta sharper sense of what I would never settle for.
I realized that what Thomas feared most was not the cost of coffee, but the cost of honesty. He wanted soul talk, but not the souls warmth. He wanted resilience, but only so long as the test wasnt his own. The more I thought about it, the clearer it seemed: relationships arent tests of endurance; theyre invitations to share comfort, to make winter bearable together.
Outside, the wind rattled the windows, but inside, I felt lifted and light. The evening hadnt just warded off guiltit left me with the delicious knowledge that I could weather any storm, and that the kind of warmth I sought was always mine to claim.
Tomorrow, perhaps, Id meet someone less worried about coffee and more curious about the conversation. Someone who understood the value of listening, and of choosing the right timeand temperatureto ask for a soul.
Until then, I let the snow keep falling and wrapped myself a little tighter in my own good sense.
