Path of Doubt: FOMO Woes

“You're still young. There's plenty of time to try new things, so relax and enjoy the ride.”

That's what your mother used to say every time you talked to her about an overseas exchange program, a new hobby, and your first date. She said it with a soft smile, like youth was a long, gentle river you could float down without hurry.

But that was years ago.

And now? Now your mother's saying something entirely different.

“You’re not young anymore. Time to get attached. When am I going to get my grandchild?”

The words land like a quiet slap every time she calls. She doesn't say it meanly. She says it tiredly, worriedly, like she's watching sand slip through an hourglass she can't flip back over. You've always wanted to argue back and say that it was her who conditioned your mindset, but she's not wrong. Is it wrong to take things slow?

You still don’t know the answer.

There's no wrong in taking it easy and going with the flow. You're doing fine right now, in fact, you're much better off than you expected. A good job, stable life, a nice apartment that you own.

The only thing missing is a partner — and you’re in no rush to find one.

But tonight you're not thinking about your mother.

Tonight you're thinking about how you ended up here.

Your friends tricked you into this group blind date.

“Low pressure,” they said.

“Just come hang out. Free food. You might meet someone nice.”

They didn’t mention there would be eight people, half of them already half-drunk, and that “nice” apparently meant “loud.”

The restaurant is one of those trendy spots with neon signs and overpriced cocktails. The table is long and narrow, voices overlapping like the stack of messy papers on your office desk.

Your friends are in full playboy mode, leaning in, flashing grins, tossing flirty one-liners at the girls across from them.

The girls laugh in response, some genuine, some polite.

And you? You sit near the end quiet, sipping your water, nod when spoken to, answer in short sentences.

You’re not rude. You’re just… not performing.

Across from you is Liz. She’s the loudest one here, but not in an obnoxious way. She’s the one who ordered the spiciest ramen on the menu “because why not,” then immediately regrets it and downs three glasses of milk while laughing at herself.

“Okay okay okay,” she announces, slamming the empty milk glass down. “New game. Drink if it’s false. Never have I ever eaten instant ramen for breakfast.”

A common thing that everyone has done. Everyone on the table groans and drinks. You raise your glass of beer reluctantlyp.

“Losers! I win!” Liz laughs sniggers goofily, hands tapping on each other like an otter.

One of your friends, the loudest playboy, leans towards her with a smirk.

“Never have I ever kissed someone on the first date.”

Liz drinks dramatically, along with the rest that chugs their share down.

“Oh~ You've kissed before?” your friend asks with his eyebrows raised.

“Duh. Life’s too short.”

The table erupts in cheers and teasing, all nodding as they reminisce.

She grins, then glances at you.

“You didn’t drink,” she says, pointing. “First-date kiss virgin?”

You shrug. “Haven’t had the right first date yet.”

Her eyes light up.

“Ooh, mysterious. I like that. Have you even kissed before?”

You shake your head and shrug.

“He’s always like this,” your friend says. “Quiet guy. Girls love it until they realize he’s actually boring.”

Liz tilts her head at him.

“Or maybe he’s just waiting for someone interesting enough to talk to.”

Your friend blinks at the attention Liz is giving you and the table quiets for half a second.

Then Liz bursts out laughing.

“I’m kidding! Kidding! Don’t look so offended.”

But she’s still looking at you, longer this time. You almost feel as if she's boring a hole into your heart with her gaze.

The rest of dinner is chaos: more games, more drinks, more stories. Just the usual as to how a usual group blind date or any drinking party would go. Liz keeps pulling everyone in, making the shy girl next to her talk, challenging your friend to a chopstick-eating contest (he loses), telling a ridiculous story about the time she tried to “taste the rainbow” with illegal spicy candy and ended up in the ER.

Every now and then she glances at you again.

It's not a flirty glance. Just… curious.

When the bill comes and the group starts splitting up, she lingers.

Outside, the night air is cool. Neon glows from the restaurant spills onto the sidewalk. Your friends are already walking ahead, some exchanging numbers, others wobbling drunkenly. You spot your friend talking to Liz by the side, most likely asking for her number, but you see her shaking her head.

Rejected.

Your friend looks at you and smiles sheepishly, before walking away into the fading light.