Miss Ovt

POV: Isna

Isna had already retyped her first message four times.

It wasn’t that he didn’t know what to say. On the contrary, he knew there was too much to say, and his restless brain was already busy sorting out which sentences sounded reasonable, which sounded desperate, and which sounded like he’d been researching this person’s profile for a full twenty minutes.

The last one is true. He did research.

His profile name:Layvin.Virgo. 178 cm tall. First photo: sitting in a cafe, coffee in hand, looking away as if he doesn’t know he’s being photographed or pretending not to. Second photo: on top of a mountain somewhere, a faint smile. Third photo: selfie, afternoon light, a blank expression, but somehow his eyes are saying something Isna can’t define.

Isna sighed.

“Why does the photo of these three make me think all sorts of things?”

Her bio only has two sentences. Two. Meanwhile, Isna spent half an hour crafting her own bio until it felt natural yet engaging:“Gemini | Likes coffee that’s too sweet and movies that are too sad | Don’t ask me what I want to eat, I don’t know either” and to this day she’s still unsure whether that sounds funny or weird.

Layvin’s bio:“Virgo. Likes peace and quiet.”

Point.

Isna stared at the two sentences for a long time before she began to interpret them.“Like to be quiet”could mean an introvert. Or it could mean he’s the type who doesn’t like drama. Or, and this is what immediately made Isna a little panicked, he’s the type who swipes randomly and isn’t really serious.

Stop. You haven’t even chatted with the person yet.

He returned to the message box. His fourth draft was still there:

“Hello! Your mountain photo is really cool, where is it?”

Isna deleted the exclamation mark. Too excited. Then added another. Then deleted again. Then decided to leave the exclamation mark and add a mountain emoji, but that looked like she was trying too hard. Finally, she deleted everything and retyped from scratch:

“Halo, Layvin.”

Simple. No exaggeration. Sounds like a normal human being who hasn’t just been analyzing three people’s profile pictures for nearly half an hour.

He pressed send before his brain could protest.

Then immediately close the application and put the cellphone on its back on the bed.

Then take it again.

Then put it back on.

Then he brewed tea which he didn’t end up drinking because his hands were busy holding his cellphone while pretending to read other notifications while his eyes were still on the Bumble icon.

Thirteen minutes passed.

He didn’t reply. That means he’s not interested. Or he’s busy. Or he saw my message and thought, “Who’s this?” and kept scrolling. Or, oh my God, he’s already screenshotted my message and sent it to his friends as the world’s most generic chat opener.

Isna hugged her pillow.

Hello, comma Layvin, period.Who wrote something like that? That’s not even a sentence; it’s a protocol greeting for a community meeting.

A notification appears.

Isna almost threw her cellphone in shock.

One new message from Bumble.

POV: Layvin

Layvin doesn’t usually scroll through Bumble during work hours.

But today the meeting was rescheduled unilaterally, his coffee had already run out, and he was sitting at his desk with a document he should have finished two hours ago but couldn’t get it all into his head.

So he opened the app. Not because he was serious, but more of a reflex.

She passed most of the profiles by, not because she was picky, but because nothing made her stop long enough to think twice. Until she came across one with a bio long enough and honest enough to feel different from the “loves traveling and eating well” template she’d read hundreds of times.

Gemini. I like coffee that’s too sweet and movies that are too sad. Don’t ask me what I want to eat, I don’t know either.

Layvin reread the last part.

He couldn’t explain why it was funny. But it was funny.

He swiped right. Without much thought, he continued on with his work.

The match notification appeared eighteen minutes later, along with the first message.

Halo, Layvin.

He read it. Glanced at the clock. Returned to his document for a moment. Then replied:

“Halo.”

Send. Continue working.

There’s nothing special about it. He’s not the type to overthink the first chat—the first message is just a door, and Layvin never over-decorates doors. Walk in, introduce yourself, see where the conversation goes. It’s that simple.

What he didn’t know: on the other side of the screen, someone was holding their phone with both hands and reading that one word over and over again while trying to determine whether “Hello.” with a period at the end was a sign of being cold, or busy, or simply not knowing how to start a conversation, or some combination of the three.

Layvin had already returned to typing his third-quarter financial report when the next notification came in.

“Virgo, huh? They say Virgos are perfectionists. Is that true?”

He stopped typing.

It was a question she wasn’t expecting. Most people who open a conversation about zodiac signs usually jump straight to “would you be compatible with me?“, but this felt more like a genuinely curious question.

Or maybe it was just a standard opener and he was overthinking it.

Overthinking?Layvin almost laughed to himself. He never overthought. That wasn’t in his vocabulary.

He typed a reply:

“It depends on your definition of perfectionist.”

POV: Isna

It depends on your definition of perfectionist.

Isna read the sentence three times.

Okay. He didn’t answer yes or no. He asked back. Or rather, he threw the ball back in a way that made Isna have to think before continuing.

Is this a smart person or is he the type who likes to make people work hard first?

Isna took a deep breath. Her fingers flew across the virtual keyboard. Five versions of her response were already forming in her head, weighing them one by one.

Version one: answer seriously, give her definition of perfectionism. Risk of seeming too intense.

Version two: answer casually, saying “well, just the standard one.” But that’s not interesting and Isna doesn’t want to sound uninteresting.

Version three: ask again. But it’s a game of pimpong ball and if it continues like this they won’t get anywhere.

Version four: be honest. Say that she asked out of curiosity whether Virgos are truly meticulous in everything, including choosing partners.

Version four is too honest. Delete it.

Finally he typed:

“The type who can’t see something messy without immediately wanting to clean it up.”

Send. Isna held her breath.

The reply came forty seconds later.

“Sometimes.”

Two words.

Isna stared at him for a long time.

Sometimes.Not yes, not no. Does this person like to play in the gray area, or is he just the type who’s very economical with his words?

But before Isna could begin her downward spiral, another notification came in. It wasn’t a text message.

Request video call.

From Layvin.

Isna stared at the screen.

His heart stopped a full beat.

They’d only exchanged six messages. Six. And this guy asked for a video call?

Her hands suddenly felt cold. Her mind raced to the possibilities of her mispronunciation, misexpression, camera angle, lighting, everything, while her thumbs hovered over theAcceptandDeclinebuttons , which both felt like the wrong choice.

Outside his bedroom window, rain began to fall gently.

Isna counted to three.