Three Meters Of Desire

Swipe Right

"This is hopeless," I groan. "They're all the same."

"Not all of them," Sophie insists. "There have to be some good ones."

"Where? Because I'm seeing a lot of abs and zero personality."

Lila holds up the phone. "What about this one? He's wearing a shirt."

I look. The guy is fully clothed, which is already a step-up. But his bio says "Just ask" and his photos are all group shots where I can't tell which one he is.

"Low effort," I declare. "Next."

"You're getting picky," Mia observes.

"I'm getting smart. There's a difference."

We're about to give up when Sophie stops scrolling.

"Wait. This one's different."

She shows me the phone, and I have to admit, she's right. The profile picture isn't a selfie or a gym photo. It's someone sitting on a beach at sunset, reading a book. You can't see his face clearly, just his silhouette against the sky.

"AJM," Sophie reads. "Literature professor who believes books can change the world. Looking for someone who understands that the best conversations happen over coffee and worn paperbacks."

Something about it makes my chest tighten. Not in a bad way. In a way I haven't felt it since... well, since before everything went wrong.

"He's reading," I say quietly.

"Revolutionary concept," Mia says sarcastically.

"No, I mean... look at his hands. The way he's holding the book. Like he actually cares about what's inside it."

My friends exchange looks.

"Elena," Lila says gently, "you can't tell someone's personality from how they hold a book."

"Maybe not. But I can tell he's not taking bathroom mirror selfies."

I take the phone and scroll through his other photos. One of him is at what looks like a bookstore, though his face is still mostly hidden. Another of a coffee cup next to an open notebook. The last one is just a quote: "We read to know we are not alone. - C.S. Lewis"

"He likes C.S. Lewis," I murmur.

"Is that good or bad?" Sophie asks.

"It's... real." I hand the phone back. "But I'm not ready for this."

"Come on," Mia encourages. "Just swipe right. See what happens."

"What happens is I get hurt again."

"What happens is you have a conversation with someone who might actually have read a book," Lila corrects.

I stare at the profile. There's something about it that feels different. Safe, maybe. Like whoever this person is, he won't call me pathetic behind my back.

"Fine," I say before I can change my mind. "But when this goes terribly, I'm blaming all of you."

I swipe right.

The screen explodes with confetti and hearts.

"It's a match!" Lila shrieks.

My heart does this weird fluttering thing. "Oh God. What do I do now?"

"You message him," Sophie says, like it's obvious.

"I can't message him. What would I even say?"

"'Hi' usually works," Mia suggests.

"That's so boring."

"'Hey beautiful' is definitely out," Lila adds.

We all laugh, but my hands are shaking as I stare at the screen. There's a little notification that says "AJM wants to chat!"

"He messaged first," Sophie observes. "That's good."

I click on the message with my heart pounding.

AJM: I have to ask is that Jane Austen in your third photo?

I blink at the screen. He actually looked at my photos. Really looked.

"What's he talking about?" Mia asks, reading over my shoulder.

I scroll to my profile photos. In the third one, I'm sitting in Sophie's apartment reading. You can barely see the book cover, but if you look closely...

"It's Pride and Prejudice," I say softly. "He noticed I was reading Pride and Prejudice."

"That's... actually impressive," Sophie admits.

My fingers hover over the keyboard. What do I say to a man who notices details like that?

Me: Good eye. Though I have to admit, it's my comfort read when life gets complicated.

I hit send before I could overthink it.

The response comes back immediately.

AJM: Austen is perfect for complicated times. She reminds us that even the worst misunderstandings can lead to the greatest love stories.

My chest does that fluttering thing again.

"What did he say?" Lila asks impatiently.

I read it aloud, and all three of my friends went quiet.

"Damn," Mia says finally. "That's actually romantic."

"And literate," Sophie adds.

"And not about your body," Lila finishes.

I stare at the message. When was the last time someone talked to me about books? About ideas? Alex used to make fun of how much I read. Said it was boring.

Me: Are you always this insightful about literature, or are you just showing off?

AJM: Guilty as charged. Though in my defense, it's rare to find someone who appreciates the classics. Most people my age are more interested in... other things.

Me: Like gym selfies and car photos?

AJM: You've been browsing profiles too, I see. Please tell me you swiped left on all the bathroom mirror selfies.

I actually laughed out loud.

Me: Every single one. Though my friends think I'm being too picky.

AJM: Your friends sound wise, but I prefer to think of it as having standards. There's nothing wrong with wanting someone who can discuss something other than protein powder.

"What are you smiling about?" Sophie asks.

I realize I'm grinning at my phone like an i***t. "He's funny."

"Good funny or dad joke funny?"

"Good funny. Smart funny."

We keep texting. About books, about school, about the weird world of online dating. He tells me about his favorite coffee shop, the one with the best atmosphere for grading papers. I tell him about my thesis struggles, though I don't mention Professor Grant or the rejection.

AJM: What's your thesis on?

Me: The evolution of female characters in 19th-century literature. Specifically, how women authors used their heroines to challenge social expectations.

AJM: That sounds fascinating. And incredibly relevant to today's world.

Me: You think so? My advisor keeps telling me it lacks depth.

AJM: Your advisor is wrong. The way women writers subverted the system from within is one of the most important literary movements in history. Anyone who can't see that probably shouldn't be teaching literature.

I stare at the message, my throat tight. Someone believes my work has value. Someone thinks my ideas matter.

Me: Thank you. I needed to hear that.

AJM: Academic criticism can be brutal. But don't let anyone convince you that your voice doesn't matter. The world needs more people willing to challenge the status quo.

"Elena?" Sophie's voice sounds far away. "Are you okay?"

I look up to find all three of my friends watching me with concern.

"Yeah," I say, wiping at my eyes. "Yeah, I'm good."

"You're crying," Lila points out.

"Happy crying," I clarify. "I think."

We text for another hour. About everything and nothing. He recommends books I've never heard of. I suggest authors he should try. He tells me about his students, how rewarding it is when someone finally connects with a piece of literature. I tell him about my dreams of maybe teaching someday, if I can ever get past my thesis.

AJM: You'd make an excellent teacher. I can tell from the way you write about literature — you have a passion for it. That's what students need to see.

Me: How can you tell that from a few text messages?

AJM: Because you light up when you talk about books. Even through text, I can feel your excitement about ideas. That's rare.

My heart is doing things it hasn't done since... maybe ever.

Me: I should probably go. My friends are staging an intervention and I think I'm supposed to be engaging with them.

AJM: Your friends sound like keepers. Don't let me keep you from them.

Me: This was nice. Thank you for the book talk.

AJM: Sweet dreams, Jane Austen girl.

I set my phone down and look up to find three pairs of eyes staring at me.

"Well?" Sophie asks.

"Well what?"

"Are you going to see him again? I mean, text him again?"

I think about it. For the first time in two weeks, I had a conversation that didn't make me feel small or stupid or worthless. For the first time in maybe forever, someone saw value in my thoughts, my dreams, my work.

"Maybe," I say quietly.

"Maybe?" Mia shrieks. "Girl, you've been smiling at that phone for two hours straight!"

"It's just texting," I protest.

"It's just the beginning," Sophie says with a knowing smile.

I look down at my phone, where AJM's last message is still glowing on the screen.

Maybe she's right.

Maybe this is exactly what I need.