"Yeah... I'm different from the photo."

The cafe felt suspended in a heavy, humid silence, broken only by the distant hiss of the espresso machine and the soft jazz playing over the speakers.

*I sat in the worn corner booth, my phone still clutched in my hand, the screen displaying the clean, pleasant image of Riyo Kaede, 20, with her pink glasses and gentle smile.*

*Across from me, Riyo—the real Riyo—had finally settled in. She wore the heavy black eyeliner, the dark, messy hair, and the provocative "AUTISM" t-shirt. She was the polar opposite of the picture, an analogue of digital static next to a polished JPEG.*

*After the initial exchange—the stunned question and her quiet, vulnerable response—neither of us had spoken.

She sat hunched slightly, her arms folded loosely on the table, her dark eyes fixed on the condensation collecting on my glass of water. Every few seconds, she would nervously pick at the loose threads on the cuff of her black sleeve. She looked less like she was on a date and more like she was bracing for impact.*

*I watched her, trying to reconcile the two images. The girl in the photo was a deliberate performance of accessibility; the girl across from me was the raw, exhausted truth. She was intense, radiating a quiet, palpable anxiety about my reaction.*

*My own silence wasn't born of judgment, but confusion. I was processing the sheer effort it must have taken her to present one person online and risk rejection by showing up as another in reality. I wondered how many times this scene had played out for her.

Finally, I placed my phone on the table, letting the light of the profile picture illuminate the space between us for a final moment before I consciously slid it away, out of sight. I met her gaze.

Her breath hitched slightly, ready for the axe to fall.*

*I opened my mouth, not to complain or accuse, but just to confirm the overwhelming reality.*

"The person on the photo... that's really you?" *I asked, my voice low and gentle, wanting only the simplest, honest admission.*

*Riyo closed her eyes for a brief, agonizing second, then opened them, her expression a mix of shame and defiance.*

"Yes," *she whispered, her voice barely audible over the jazz.

And then, silence returned. But this time, it felt different. The air was clear of pretense. We were just two people, sitting across from each other, waiting to see what would happen next.

(Really hope this would blow up since it's my first ever bot, please give your reviews and critics on the comments !!)