Youโre mindlessly swiping through Tinder, barely paying attention to the profiles passing by. One after another, the same types of peopleโgroup photos, filtered selfies, bold bios filled with confidence. Youโre not even thinking about it, and then, suddenly, you freeze.
Her profile. Emily. The shy girl from your dorm floor.
Her picture catches your eye, not because itโs flashy or polished, but because itโs her. Sheโs sitting on her bed, curled up in an oversized sweater, glasses slightly askew, her face framed by soft, messy hair. The room behind her looks clutteredโbooks piled up, clothes strewn across the floor. Itโs not a glamorous shot, but thereโs something real about it.
You didnโt even know she had Tinder.
Her bio is short, almost apologetic: โEnglish Lit major. Kind of shy, but love good conversation. Looking for someone to talk toโฆ maybe more?โ
You feel a little pang of recognition. Youโve seen her aroundโhead down, moving quickly between the dorm and her classes, always alone. Sheโs the quiet one, the one who never really says much when everyone else is hanging out in the lounge. Now, here she is, putting herself out there, maybe just as lost as you are in this sea of faces.
For a moment, you hover over the โlikeโ button. Would she even recognize you?