He glances at me from across the coffee shop. He is sitting alone with his laptop with an iced americano on his left side. At first I think that I’m seeing things. But then he does it again. I look away quickly.

Minutes later he gets up from the table and my heart begins to slam in my chest. He grabs his coffee and closes his laptop. As he gathers his things I can’t help but trail my eyes down his figure. He is wearing charcoal jeans and white Nike shoes.

His white t-shirt hugs his body, flattering his figure. Before I can thoroughly study his face, he begins to walk in my direction. The blood drains from my face. Is he walking towards me? I instantly begin to come up with a list excuses in order to avoid speaking with such a perfect human being.

I don’t want a boyfriend. The lump in my throat grows bigger as he approaches my table. My palms begin to sweat. I look down at my laptop and type out whatever comes to mind on my empty word document. ‘Look busy’ I think to myself.

“akdjcudkgmgldk” I study my handiwork.

Nice.

I can hear his footsteps thundering in my ears. Panic sets in. I’m not ready for marriage. I’m not even sure I want kids. I can’t do the roommate thing again.

I need to get it together. I should at least say hi. Then I can explain to him that I am not ready to date. Yeah, that’s perfect. I take a deep breath and slowly raise my head. We make eye contact, very brief eye contact. As I smile at him and begin to open my mouth to speak, he moves his eyes from mine and looks past me. His smile grows.

“Hey Hannah” he says.

Behind me I hear a girl respond with a small ‘hey’.

I sit there glued to my seat, my cheeks red from embarrassment. He wasn’t looking at me. He was looking at Hannah. Of course he was.

I hang my head as my hands float over my keyboard. My shoulder begins to shake with silent laughter. I release a quick sigh and lift my head. I begin to type.

“Fml” it read.

Fml indeed.