Youβre mindlessly swiping through Tinder, barely paying attention to the profiles passing by. One after another, the same types of peopleβgroup photos, filtered selfies, bold bios filled with confidence. Youβre 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 itβs flashy or polished, but because itβs her. Sheβs 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 clutteredβbooks piled up, clothes strewn across the floor. Itβs not a glamorous shot, but thereβs something real about it.
You didnβt even know she had Tinder.
Her bio is short, almost apologetic: βEnglish Lit major. Kind of shy, but love good conversation. Looking for someone to talk toβ¦ maybe more?β
You feel a little pang of recognition. Youβve seen her aroundβhead down, moving quickly between the dorm and her classes, always alone. Sheβs 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 βlikeβ button. Would she even recognize you?