swipe right for love

Chapter 1- Ann

Name: Ann McAllister

Age: 28

Occupation: journalist

Personality: Always up for a laugh!

I grimace, deleting it all before I had even finished typing it. When Kylie told me how easy setting up a dating profile was, she never mentioned that I would have to whittle down my personality, my LIFE to 100 characters or less.

I sigh and glance at the time- 11:33.

The writer in me tells me to note this down to use in my wedding speech, just in case this leads somewhere other than disappointment and self-pity. However, the chance of that is very low. My thumbs hover above the glowing letters, unsure of who I am. I try to think of what kind of woman men want. Tall skinny blondes. Unlucky for me, I'm 5ft 2 and brunette with a wavy bob. I spend what feels like forever deciding what aspects of myself would be good enough for the men of Paris and wondering what I would write with no specific limit on how much to write.

I eventually decided on a description, after getting too tired to think about it any longer.

New in Paris- love it so much here! Addicted to Bridgerton- looking for my Anthony!

I also have to include 5 photos of me 'going about my daily life'. I try to resist the temptation to submit photos of myself hyper fixating on an article for hours only for it to be rejected. Or I could post a picture of me running at the speed of light to catch a train – photos that were ever so kindly taken by Kylie. I scroll all the way back to June for the same photo I use for everything.

It's of me and Chloe on our last night out together before I had started my apprenticeship, before everything changed. I can barely bring myself to crop her out, even though I know I have to. Growing up it was always about her, with the world revolving around her, and me always almost looking like some bystander. It wasn't until I started my apprenticeship that I realized that it wasn't me. I could be more than that. And today I am.

So, I also add some photos of me and Kylie when we climbed to the top of the Sacre-Couer and looked over the whole of Paris through those beautiful stone arches – choosing to ignore the half hour I spent hyperventilating at being so high up. I scroll past all the photos of both of us and choose a photo of me where I'm so close to being a silhouette you can't see the horror on my face.

I stifle a yawn and place my phone on my bedside table, where I can't ruin my dating life more than I already have. I can't stop thinking about that photo of me and Chloe, about how happy we were, and maybe I should have apologized instead of letting our friendship die out like it did.

Ping- I lose my train of thought when my phone goes off, and I can see the fiery symbol of the dating app appear on my screen. I try not to get my hopes up- it's probably just a bot congratulating me on my account... right? Surely, I didn't get a response that fast. I type in my password at the speed of light, rushing to see if it had worked already.

OH MY GOD! IT ACTUALLY HAPPENED.

The profile of another user pops up on my screen and I rush to read it, trembling with excitement.

Name: Marcus Wright

Age: 30

Occupation: Wine taster

Lifestyle/personality: Looking for someone who can be my best friend. I prefer the finer things in life, like local restaurants instead of fast food, or meeting people in real life instead of online, but oh well I'm only human.

I laugh and scroll down to his pictures, unable to keep the smile off my lips.

My jaw drops.

My eyes are instantly drawn to his, and I can't take my eyes off the dark chocolate pools he saw me through. His dark tousled hair is as black as night, and covers much of his smooth olive brown skin, the dim light reflecting constellations in his hair. His full lips are curved into a smile in a way that makes me feel like I am lucky to be on earth at the same time as him.

His gaze is intoxicating, almond eyes framed with lashes so long that on anyone else you'd assume they were fake. His eyes are inky black almonds set deep in his face as if being guarded by his thick eyebrows and razor-sharp jaw hidden by a veil of stubble.

I scroll to his other photos, where his hair is styled to reveal a single gold hoop piercing his eyebrow like a beacon of light leading to his mind.

His other photos include him sipping a glass of wine tentatively, looking out at Paris from the steps in front of the Sacre Coeur and so many photos of breakfasts and wines that you'd think the profile was advertising Paris, and not Marcus.

I put my phone back on my bedside table, this time not out of tiredness, but out of success.