But of course, he didn't take the hint — again.
I swear, if persistence was a skill, Alex would have unlocked some legendary achievement by now.
"I'm just saying," he went on, ignoring my thousand-yard stare, "maybe it's fate. We keep running into each other."
Buddy. That's not fate. That's stalking with extra steps.
I took a sip of my juice and looked around desperately for Mira, hoping she'd swoop in and save me like the clingy fairy godmother she always pretends to be. But no. She was still too busy flirting with her temporary soulmate of the hour on the dance floor.
And I was stuck here.
"Maybe we can meet up sometime? Just talk. I feel like there's still something between us," he said, leaning a little closer.
Oh there was definitely something between us. And it was called a strong urge to run away.
When I realized Mira was too busy making heart eyes at her temporary crush to even glance in my direction, I decided to leave on my own. No big deal. I was tired, annoyed, and my orange juice was warm.
But just as I stood up to leave, Alex grabbed my wrist.
"I'm not done talking," he said, like we were in some sad romance drama and this was his grand moment.
I tried to yank my hand away — once, twice — but his grip just tightened.
And that's when I lost it.
Without thinking twice, I picked up the half-finished orange juice… and splashed it right into his smug face.
His jaw dropped, and as he let go of my wrist in shock, I gave him one more gift:
A slap so sharp, even the music seemed to pause.
"You are done now," I said, then turned and walked away like the main character I was.
Mira must've seen the whole thing, because she came sprinting after me, heels clacking like a guilty little deer.
"I'm so sorry, I didn't know Alex would be here! I swear I wouldn't have left you alone if I knew—"
"Yeah? Well maybe next time you can flirt after making sure your best friend isn't being stalked," I snapped.
She looked like a kicked puppy, and I hated that I even had to say it.
But honestly? I was over this night, this party, and the entire male population.
And to top it all off like a cherry on a disaster sundae, guess what happened the moment I walked through my front door?
My mom called.
Not to check if I was alive.
Not to ask how was my day went.
Oh no — she called to tell me she'd set up a date for me.
"Yes, he's my friend's son. So polite, so decent — you'll love him!" she said, like she was offering me a clearance-sale boyfriend.
I stared at the ceiling, questioning every decision that led me to this exact moment.
Of course I was already pissed. And of course I had no say in the matter. Because if I didn't agree, she'd dive straight into her signature emotional guilt trip — complete with dramatic pauses and tragic sighs.
And honestly? I didn't have the patience to deal with her award-winning performances tonight.
So I clenched my jaw, said the fakest "okay" in human history, and hung up.
Congratulations, life — you win. Again.
After all that drama, I decided to just sleep — or else I'd end up late again tomorrow. And I was not in the mood to hear another hour-long yelling session from my boss.
Thankfully, the next day was business as usual.
The good news? I wasn't late.
The bad news? That didn't stop him from finding something else to scold me for.
Whether it was the way I made his coffee, the papers on my desk, or the air I was breathing — he just had to find a reason to lecture me.
I'm pretty sure if he goes a full day without snapping at me, his body shuts down from withdrawal.
Anyway, the day went by in a blur of paperwork, Mira's gossip, and me internally questioning my life choices.
I left the office early today, though. Why?
Because I had that date.
Yes. That date.
Mira came home with me, obviously way more excited than I was, and helped me pick out something decent to wear. Hair, makeup, accessories — the full package. She was practically styling me like I was heading to a red carpet, not a dinner with someone I didn't even want to meet.
And just as I was pretending to be emotionally ready for this mess…
We heard a car horn.
We exchanged a look.
"Oh great," I muttered. "That must be him."
I stepped outside, and Mira waved goodbye from the doorway like she was sending her child off to war.
I walked up to the car — the guy had already opened the door for me.
How sweet.
I slipped into the passenger seat, closed the door, and turned to finally see his face.
And just like that... disappointment.
He looked completely normal. Too normal.
Not ugly or anything — just not my type.
He gave off that nerdy energy, but with a gym membership. Like he read programming books during gym sessions.
We reached the restaurant, got seated at our reserved table, placed our order... and then the real torture began.
He didn't stop talking.
The entire time, it was just him.
His achievements, his grades, his job, his gym routine — like a one-man podcast nobody asked for.
I wasn't even pretending to be interested at that point. My brain had already checked out.
I was just staring past him, praying for the food to come before I collapsed face-first onto the table.
Thank god it arrived early — otherwise I might've actually fallen asleep mid-eye roll.
Even then, as I ate in silence, he kept going.
Apparently, he's some genius with a six-figure salary and a six-pack to match. "That's what girls want anyway," he said proudly, flexing his ego harder than his biceps.
I was halfway through chewing when my mind drifted to someone else — Alex.
Strangely enough, he hadn't contacted me today. After what happened last night, I expected some petty revenge move or dramatic text, but… nothing.
Not that I was complaining.
He embarrassed himself — not me.
And honestly? He should be grateful all I did was throw juice and not a chair.
After wasting my entire evening with Captain Ego, I finally got home, freshened up, and flopped onto my bed like a drained phone battery.
Not even ten minutes later, my phone rang.
It was my mom.
I sighed, bracing myself for another round of "he's such a nice guy" or "you need to stop being so picky."
"I didn't like him," I said before she could even bring it up.
But what she said next?
Of course — she started lecturing me.
"As if my day wasn't already a disaster, now I had to survive her lecture too."
I don't even know when I passed out mid-call — somewhere between her fifth complaint about my life and the seventh time she said, "Back in my day..."
And if you're wondering why I didn't just mute her?
Oh, honey.
I wish.
But this woman doesn't just talk — she asks questions. And she waits for answers. And if you don't give her one fast enough, she'll either call again...
or worse — show up at my apartment the next morning.
So yeah, I had no choice but to suffer.