Sitting in a coffee shop on Christmas Eve was beautiful, cozy, and... a bit strange, considering my only companion that evening was a phone with a dating app open. While people were lugging trees and rushing for gifts outside the window, I was methodically swiping through profiles, trying to find at least one real face.
— Another "successful success" in front of someone else's car — I muttered under my breath back then, taking a sip of coffee.
— Not many options today? — the waiter, wiping the next table, nodded at my screen.
— Worse than usual — I answered honestly — All the decent ones are probably already eating turkey with their families. And those left online are either hopeless romantics like me or just forgot to delete the app.
— And which category do you put yourself in?
— I’m one of those waiting for the screen to not just flash a notification one day, but to produce someone I’d want to discuss something more serious with than "how are you."
You know, being on a dating site on an evening like that wasn't about despair. It was about hope hidden behind irony. I wasn't waiting for a prince to burst through the door, but I believed in the theory of probability. That among hundreds of empty profiles, there was someone sitting in another cafe at that very minute thinking, "So where are you wandering?".
Christmas back then just sharpened this feeling. I looked at the lights, the decorations, and realized I didn't just want a "partner," but that exact person with whom being silent is just as cool as laughing. Yes, my phone didn't show a "match" that night, and I left the cafe alone. But that loneliness was my conscious choice. I finished my latte, closed the app, and just went for a walk through the snowy city. Now, I look back on that evening with a smile—a miracle doesn't have to happen on a schedule, but I know for sure: it's still on its way somewhere.