A week after their first meeting, Mark and Anna stood outside a vintage-looking indie theater. Mark had promised a "memorable first date," and judging by the neon sign flickering above them, Anna was curious—and slightly skeptical.
"I thought we'd start with something intellectual," Mark said with mock seriousness, holding the door open.
Anna smirked. "That sounds suspiciously like code for 'super boring.'"
He grinned. "You'll see."
The movie started off promising—moody lighting, deep dialogue, and dramatic music. But halfway through, it took a turn for the bizarre: long shots of flickering lights, a monologue about a man turning into a chair, and no discernible plot.
Anna leaned over and whispered, "Are we sure this isn't some kind of psychological experiment?"
Mark chuckled under his breath. "If it is, I think we're failing."
Ten minutes later, they quietly snuck out, both trying not to laugh.
They ended up at a late-night diner down the street, red leather booths and retro music humming through the speakers. Over milkshakes and greasy fries, their awkward movie experience turned into something better—easy conversation and shared laughter.
"I was trying to impress you," Mark admitted, dipping a fry into ketchup. "I figured indie cinema would make me look cultured."
Anna laughed. "You looked confused the entire time."
"That was acting."
"You're a terrible actor," she teased.
He tilted his head. "I'm great at improv. Like now—this was the real date all along."
She raised her milkshake in a mock toast. "To failed plans and better surprises."
They clinked glasses and smiled.
As they left the diner, the night air cool against their cheeks, Mark walked her to her car.
"I had a great time tonight," he said, a little shyly.
"Me too. Even with the weird movie."
"I'll do better next time," he promised.
Anna turned toward him, her smile soft but steady. "You already are."