Rewrite the Rules

Lost and Found: : Part 22

Sinking into the plush hotel lobby sofa, I snatched up my phone as it buzzed with a video call. Before Daisy's face even filled the screen, the words tumbled out of me in a torrent, "I am the world's biggest ingrate."

Daisy's perfectly arched eyebrow shot up on the other end. "Hold on there, drama queen," she teased, her voice laced with amusement and a hint of concern. "Tell me all about it. Was the date that disastrous?"

"No, no, not disastrous," I stammered, running a hand through my hair in a gesture of frustration. "It was... lovely. Opulent, even. But..." My voice trailed off, searching for the words that snagged in my throat.

"But there's a giant 'but' hanging in the air, isn't there?" Daisy prompted, a knowing glint in her eyes.

"Okay, so picture this," I began, launching into a breathless description of the morning. The hushed reverence of the Tiffany & Co. staff, the sparkle of diamonds catching the light, the delicate China and silver clinking softly against starched white tablecloths. It had all felt so surreal, like stepping into a scene from a movie. Except, maybe, the wrong leading man.

"And then," I continued, my voice dropping to a whisper, "he presents me with this exquisite silver bracelet. A tiny Tiffany heart dangled from it, catching the light like a beacon. It was..." I searched for the right word, "lovely."

"Hold on a second," Daisy interjected, a playful smile tugging at her lips. "Isn't that the same design as those charm bracelets Samina's dad got us for graduation back in eighth grade?"

A wave of heat flooded my cheeks. "Exactly!" I exclaimed, the realization hitting me like a punch to the gut. "It wasn't the cost, or the gesture itself. It was..." I fumbled for the words, the knot of unease tightening in my stomach.

"It was impersonal," Daisy finished my sentence, her voice gentle but firm. "Like he didn't take any time to get to know the real you."

"No! Yes!" I breathed, relief washing over me. "The whole date felt staged, scripted. Like he'd read my Wikipedia page and decided that was enough."

Disappointment gnawed at me. The memory of the greasy spoon diner we'd visited with Namjoon, the one with mismatched furniture and Elvis memorabilia on the walls, suddenly felt infinitely more appealing. There, amidst the laughter and genuine conversation, I'd felt a spark. Here, at Tiffany's, I felt like a gilded trophy, not a woman worthy of getting to know.

"So, what are you going to do?" Daisy asked, her gaze sharp.

"You're the dating guru, remember?" I pleaded, holding the phone out at arm's length. "Tell me what wisdom you possess, oh great dating oracle."

Just then, as I felt a presence beside me on the sofa. Glancing down, I saw a man sprawled a little too close for comfort, his eyes glued to his phone, oblivious to my discomfort.

"Excuse me, sir," I said, my voice laced with forced politeness, "but you're kind of invading my space here."

He barely looked up, mumbling something unintelligible from behind a mop of what could only be described as... questionable hair. Thick glasses perched precariously on his nose, and a glimpse of teeth that could rival a jack-o'-lantern for whiteness did little to quell my rising irritation.

Without waiting for a reply, I held the phone out at arm's length, hoping Daisy could see the absurdity of the situation. "Hold on a sec," I muttered, frustration bubbling over.

"You have a boyfriend, don't you?" a deep voice rumbled from beside me. This time, the man finally tore his eyes from the phone, a mischievous glint sparking within them.