# Orchids, humidity, and a date that actually felt real
I usually delete dating apps about 72 hours after installing them. It’s a cycle I’ve perfected: download, swipe, realize half the profiles are bots or people collecting Instagram followers, delete, repeat. I’m not a romantic; I’m a realist with a busy schedule and zero patience for games.
So when I signed up for https://myspecialdates.com/ , I wasn't expecting much. I honestly just wanted to prove to my friend that this one would be garbage too. But I was wrong. The first thing I noticed was that people actually wrote bios. Like, real sentences about their hobbies, not just a line of emojis or a "Just ask me" placeholder. That small detail hooked me enough to start a conversation with Anna.
We didn't dive into deep philosophical questions immediately. We argued about whether pineapples belong on pizza (they don't, fight me) and discussed the nightmare of finding a parking spot in the city. It was refreshing. The rhythm of the conversation felt natural, like catching up with an old colleague rather than interviewing a stranger. After a week of chatting, we decided to meet.
I suggested the botanical garden. Coffee shops are too loud, and dinner feels too high-stakes for a first meeting. A walk seemed safer. If it went south, I could just pretend to be really interested in ferns and drift away.
I arrived ten minutes early, pacing near the ticket booth. I was nervous—not the "butterflies in stomach" kind, but the "did I wear the right shirt?" anxiety. When Anna showed up, she wasn't wearing a red dress or high heels. She was in jeans and sneakers, holding a water bottle. That was the first green flag. She looked like a person prepared to walk, not a model posing for a photoshoot.
We headed into the tropical greenhouse. The moment we stepped inside, my glasses fogged up completely from the humidity. I stood there, blind and blinking, feeling like an idiot. Instead of an awkward silence, I heard her laughing. "Give it a minute," she said, handing me a tissue from her bag. "My camera lens did the same thing."
We walked for an hour, navigating through the humid air and massive palm leaves. The conversation flowed easily. We stopped to look at some weird carnivorous plants, speculating about what happens if you stick a finger in one (we didn't try). There was no pressure to fill every second with talk. At one point, we just stood silently watching a small waterfall, and it didn't feel heavy. It just felt calm.
We grabbed an iced coffee afterward and sat on a bench outside. We talked about our jobs—she’s in logistics, which explains her punctuality—and our failed attempts at keeping houseplants alive. It wasn't a movie scene. There were no fireworks or dramatic confessions. It was just two adults enjoying the sunlight and a decent conversation.
Driving home, I realized I hadn't checked my phone once during the date. That’s rare for me. I don't know if this is going to turn into a long-term partnership, and I’m definitely not using words like "destiny." But for the first time in years, I met someone who matched the version of themselves they presented online. We have plans to check out a jazz club next weekend. I’m actually looking forward to it.
