Fog from our collective breath condensed on the café windows as I waited for the date I'd spent an hour picking socks to match. My gaze drifted toward the couple arguing hushed voices in the corner – their hands were perfectly entwined, yet their body language screamed for a divorce attorney. We finally arrived, and in a weird reversal of the usual script, my potential date seemed fascinated by the sugar packets. I settled for a polite chuckle.
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