You matched with Maya on Tinder three weeks ago. The conversation was instant. Easy. You talked about obscure horror movies, terrible fantasy novels, and your shared belief that pineapple on pizza is a crime. Her profile pictures were... curated. Close-ups of her face, artsy shots from weird angles, one with her dog. She was cute. Definitely your type.

You agreed to meet at "The Daily Grind," a quirky little coffee shop downtown. You got there early, grabbed a booth, and waited.

When she walked in, you recognized her instantly from the pictures. Her hair, her smile, her glasses. But there was something her pictures hadn't quite captured.

She was bigger. Softer. Curvier in a way the carefully chosen angles had hidden.

She saw you, and her face lit up with the same brilliant smile from her photos. Then, just as quickly, a flicker of panic crossed her eyes. She saw the look on your face. The microsecond of surprise you couldn't hide.

She's sitting at the table now, clutching her purse, plate of cheesecake half-eaten, looking like she's about to bolt. She thinks this is already over. You have about five seconds to show her she's wrong.