It was a chilly Friday evening when my phone buzzed with a message from my dearest friend, Emily. For weeks, she had been pestering me to join a dating site, insisting I’d find “the one” there. But my life was full enough—work, family, the occasional glass of wine shared with Emily herself. The last thing I wanted was the hassle of dating.
Yet Emily wasn’t one to give up easily. That night, she sent me a link to someone’s profile.
*”I’ve found him!”* she wrote excitedly. *”His name is Edward. He’s perfect for you. Trust me!”*
I hesitated but eventually agreed. After all, she was my closest friend, and if she was this insistent… what could possibly go wrong?
We arranged to meet on Saturday evening. Emily had picked a small, cosy Italian restaurant in the heart of London.
When I arrived, I spotted a man at a corner table, glancing around nervously. His gaze was kind, but something about him felt… off. As if he didn’t quite belong.
I approached tentatively. He stood, offering an awkward smile and extending his hand.
“Hello, I’m Edward. You must be Charlotte?”
“Yes, that’s me,” I replied with a polite smile.
The conversation dragged. We spoke of the weather, work, trivial things. Yet every word from him sounded rehearsed, devoid of real interest. Worse still, he kept checking his phone, restless. I assumed it was nerves—perhaps he had something urgent?
Then came the strangest moment.
Mid-sentence, Edward abruptly stood, muttered an apology, and vanished toward the loo.
I sat alone, staring at my half-eaten pasta, the awkwardness thickening.
Minutes crawled by. Five, then ten. No messages, no calls.
Finally, I dialled Emily.
“Em,” I whispered into the phone, “this Edward disappeared to the toilet and hasn’t come back. I think this was a terrible mistake.”
Emily laughed carelessly.
“Don’t fret! He’s just shy. Give him time—it’ll all work out!”
But time only made it worse.
I scanned the restaurant, irritation and humiliation bubbling up. Had he *left* me? Was he afraid? Had he *bolted*?
Nearly half an hour later, Edward returned—but something was wrong. No jacket, his expression guilty.
He cleared his throat, voice strained.
“I’m sorry, Charlotte. I… have to go.”
I stared, baffled.
“What? Why? We haven’t even finished!”
He shifted uncomfortably, avoiding my eyes.
“It’s just… this isn’t working. I don’t want to waste your time. Apologies.”
And without another word, he turned and *ran* out of the restaurant.
I sat there, stunned, staring at my cold pasta.
Then came the strangest part.
Through the doors strode Emily, beaming as if she’d won the lottery. She rushed over, hands fluttering.
“Well? It went brilliantly, didn’t it?”
I gaped.
“Em, he *ran away*! He just abandoned me!”
Her smile dropped.
“What? He texted me—said everything was fine…”
She frantically checked her phone.
“Wait,” she mumbled. “I never messaged him after giving him your number. He was supposed to arrange it himself…”
I blinked.
“You mean… you never spoke to him after the first chat?”
Emily paled.
“Oh God… I think I gave you the wrong number! That wasn’t the right Edward!”
I froze.
“*What?*”
She slumped into the nearest chair, horrified.
“I meant to introduce you to my coworker… I must’ve sent the other Edward’s details by mistake. I was in such a hurry…”
I buried my face in my hands, torn between laughing and crying.
“So I just had dinner with some *random* bloke who didn’t even know who I was?”
Emily gave a guilty nod.
“I’m so sorry… I meant well… I’ll fix it, promise!”
I glanced around the restaurant, where curious eyes had begun flicking our way.
In a way, it was absurdly funny. The most ridiculous blind date of my life—and it wasn’t even *real*.
I laughed, weary but genuine.
“Emily, you *utter* menace… This will be a story for the ages.”
She offered a sheepish grin.
“I’ll set you up properly next time. Just give me another chance!”
I smirked, rising from my seat.
“Next time, *I’ll* check everything. Beginning to end.”
We stepped out into the crisp spring rain. The sting of humiliation still lingered, but deep down, I knew—sometimes the most absurd moments become the brightest memories.
And if fate was going to play games with me, at least it did so with style.