Seven dates she went on.

Saturday: She went on a date with an actor. He picked at his salad, drank expensive wine, and wore more makeup than her.

Sunday: She went on a date with a businessman. He bought her an expensive bracelet and mansplained how diamonds were an investment.

Monday: She went to lunch with a tech guru. He wore flip flops with jeans and used ‘innovation’ more times than she could count.

Tuesday: She went for coffee with a writer. He told her how her brown eyes were mesmerizing and wrote her into his book – as the antagonist’s concubine.

Wednesday: She had dinner with an architect. His gaze made her want to build a fortress around herself.

Thursday: She went on a date with an accountant. He spent the night explaining to her why she should ‘budget her life’.

Friday: She went to the movies with an astronaut. His eyes never landed on her face.

Seven dates she went on. Seven men she met. And she realized she loved dining alone, drinking coffee in utter silence, having her salad to-go.

Seven men she met and forgot – like a nightmare from her childhood, where she was walked through ghosts who did not see her, feel her presence – like she was less real than them.

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I wrote this for my flash fiction write-along, MicroTales, but it didn’t feel like the story I wanted to post there. Decided to post it here instead. For my MicroTales romance story, click here.