It was supposed to be a fresh start. My friend had been so insistent, “You need to get out there! I know just the guy.” I’d been hesitant, but her enthusiasm was infectious. So I agreed. He showed up at the restaurant with flowers. Not some limp, grocery store bunch, but actual, long-stemmed roses, perfectly wrapped. My heart fluttered a little, I won’t lie. He smiled, and it was a genuine, warm smile. He opened the car door for me, then the restaurant door. He pulled out my chair at the table. It felt… old-fashioned, in the best possible way. I hadn’t realized how much I missed that kind of attention.
Dinner was perfect. He was charming, genuinely interested in what I had to say, funny without being obnoxious. We talked about everything – our dreams, our favorite obscure movies, even a little about our past heartbreaks. There was a connection, a spark I hadn’t felt in years. I kept catching myself smiling, a real, unforced smile. Could this be it? Could she actually have found someone great for me?
Then the check came. I, being me, reached for my wallet. A habit. A necessity. A modern woman thing. He saw the movement, and before my fingers even grazed the leather, his hand was there, gentle but firm. “Absolutely not,” he said, sliding his card down. “A man pays on the first date.” His eyes met mine, a twinkle there, and I felt a blush creep up my neck. I leaned back, a little giddy. It was chivalry, pure and simple. And I loved it.
We walked out into the cool night air, the streetlights soft halos around us. He walked me to my car, opened the door, and waited until I was safely inside before waving goodbye. I drove home on a cloud, replaying every moment. Every laugh, every shared glance. This was one of the best first dates I’d ever had. Possibly the best. I drifted off to sleep with a stupid smile on my face, already looking forward to his text the next morning.
The next morning, the text came. My phone buzzed on the nightstand. I reached for it, my heart doing that excited little flip. A good morning text? A cute meme? I unlocked the screen, and my breath caught. It wasn’t a text from him at all. It was a message from my friend. The one who set us up. It simply said, “LOL. Check this out.”
Below her message was a screenshot. A screenshot of her conversation with him. My stomach dropped. I could feel the blood draining from my face even before I started to read.
His name was at the top of the chat, beneath hers.
My friend: “So, mission accomplished? Did you get her with the full ‘gentleman’ routine? Especially the ‘man pays’ line?”
I felt a cold dread spread through me, like ice water in my veins. My eyes flickered to his reply, a single sentence that stole all the air from my lungs.
His reply: “She fell for it hook, line, and sinker. Just like you said. Pathetic.”
My vision swam. Pathetic? The words echoed in my head, a cruel, mocking laugh. It was all a performance. The flowers, the doors, the chair. The charming conversation. It was all a script. And I was the unwitting, swooning audience. The fool.
I scrolled down further, my fingers trembling, the screen blurring through unshed tears.
My friend: “PERFECT. Now you owe me dinner, and she owes me for proving I’m always right about men like you.”
My world imploded. IT WAS A BET. A GAME. My friend, the one who supposedly cared about me, had set me up not for a date, but for a humiliating spectacle. The “man pays” line, that sweet, chivalrous gesture, wasn’t a sign of respect or interest. It was the finish line in a cruel race. A signal that the bet had been won.
I stared at the screen, the words burning into my soul. The betrayal was a physical ache, sharper than any heartbreak. My friend. My trusted friend. She hadn’t found me a great guy. She’d found me a mark. She’d put me on display, watching me fall for a routine she KNEW was fake, all to prove some twisted point to HIM about ME.
I was not a person to her. I was a prop in her twisted, manipulative game. And the most heartbreaking part? I still don’t know what it was she was trying to prove, or why. All I know is that night, I didn’t just walk away from a bad date. I walked away from a friendship, and a part of myself that still believed in genuine kindness. I haven’t been on a date since.
