I stood in front of my mirror, adjusting the sleek black dress that hugged my curves just right. The soft fabric shimmered under the light, and for a moment, I felt like a star. I’d carefully paired it with strappy heels and delicate gold jewelry, every detail screaming sophistication. Tonight was special—my date had hinted at a “special dinner,” and my mind danced with the images of candlelight flickering over exquisite cuisine, the clinking of fine wine glasses punctuating our laughter.

Just a few weeks ago, I had finally (mentally) broken free from a two-year relationship that had turned sour. My ex-boyfriend had cheated on me, leaving my heart bruised and my self-esteem in tatters. To add insult to injury, I later discovered I had been the unwitting third wheel in our relationship. How could I have been so blind? The realization had hit me like a punch to the gut.

After a year of focusing on myself, I was finally ready to dip my toes back into the world of dating. My close friend at work, sensing my newfound determination, had insisted, “You have to meet my childhood friend! He’s still single and absolutely amazing! He treats women with respect and warmth—total family guy material!” I’d been intrigued. After the chaos of my last relationship, the idea of someone stable and genuine felt like a breath of fresh air. So, with cautious optimism, I decided to give this friend of a friend a chance, hoping for a spark that might reignite my belief in love.

As I stepped outside, the cool evening air wrapped around me like a hug, and I allowed myself to revel in the excitement for just a moment. But as my gaze landed on my date waiting by the car, a chill settled in my stomach. There he was—grinning from ear to ear in an Arsenal Football Club jersey, bright red shorts, and… beach slippers. I blinked, willing my brain to process the sight. The contrast between my glamorous look and his casual attire was jarring.

“Hey, Arisa! You look amazing!” he said, completely oblivious to my stunned silence.

“Uh, thanks…” I managed, my mind racing. What was he thinking?

As I slid into the car, still reeling from his outfit, I decided to keep my thoughts to myself. Maybe he would change once we arrived at our destination. The silence between us felt thick, like a fog rolling in, as he turned the ignition and pulled away.

“So… where exactly are we going?” I finally asked, trying to break the tension.

“Oh! My favorite spot! You’ll love it. I go there all the time!” His eyes gleamed with enthusiasm.

My heart sank a little more with every passing moment. Your favorite spot? This is starting to feel vague…

After what felt like an eternity, we turned into a familiar parking lot. I squinted at the glowing golden arches in the distance. My heart dropped. McDonald's? Of all the places in the city, I was dressed like a movie star for fast food. The sense of absurdity was overwhelming.

“Surprise!” He grinned, looking proud as we parked.

I wanted to laugh, cry, and scream all at once. “I—uh, I didn’t realize we were doing… fast food,” I stammered, glancing down at my exquisite ensemble.

Inside, the bright yellow plastic tables, the scent of fries, and the sounds of laughter from children filled the air. I felt so out of place—like a rare jewel in a pile of plastic trinkets. He was completely at ease, happily munching on his burger while I awkwardly picked at my fries, struggling to express my dismay without ruining the night.

“So... what do you think? Cool place, huh?” he asked, oblivious to my discomfort.

“It’s... unexpected,” I said, forcing a smile. The words tasted like sour milk on my tongue.

“I know, right? Best burgers in town, hands down! And hey, we don’t have to wait forever for the food. Plus, look—unlimited ketchup!” He gestured to the dispensers as if revealing a hidden treasure.

Unlimited ketchup. Wow. I should be grateful, right? I felt the warmth of embarrassment creep up my cheeks.

I tried to push my frustration aside, focusing on the absurdity of it all. This was not how I envisioned the evening going. Each crunch of his loud chewing twisted my stomach—not from hunger but from disappointment. I was supposed to be enjoying a romantic evening, not sharing a fast-food table with someone who didn’t even consider my feelings.

I took a sip from my soda, wishing it had the power to erase the evening's fiasco. Instead, I felt bitterness bubbling inside me, my patience wearing thinner with every story he shared about how McDonald’s reminded him of his childhood.

Doesn’t he get it? I thought, feeling like I was in an episode of a terrible sitcom.

Finally, after a long silence, I couldn’t hold back any longer. “Listen, this is… fine, but maybe next time, give me a heads up? You know, so I can dress for the occasion?”

“Oh, wow, yeah! I didn’t think of that. Sorry!” he replied, looking genuinely surprised. “But hey, it’s what’s inside that counts, right? Doesn’t matter where we are.”

Doesn’t matter? Maybe not to you, I thought, feeling a mix of frustration and amusement.

As I watched him slurp his soda with pure contentment, something shifted within me. Sure, this was not the fine dining experience I had anticipated, but there was an undeniable absurdity to the situation.

Maybe I’ve taken myself too seriously, I mused. My life since being thrown back into my single life had been a series of unexpected turns. This moment was just another ridiculous chapter.

Feeling the corners of my mouth lift, I forced a laugh, trying to see the humor in it all.

“Okay, I can’t believe I’m saying this, but this is kind of funny,” I said, surprising myself.

His eyes brightened, and he laughed along with me. “See? I knew you’d come around!”

As I walked back to my apartment, the bright city lights seemed to dim around me, their vibrancy fading like my enthusiasm for the evening. The laughter from the restaurant echoed in my ears, but the joy had evaporated, leaving behind a bitter aftertaste. I could hardly believe how quickly the evening had soured.

At 40 years of age following the norm I should already have been married but here I am still dating... or lack of it it seems.

How did I end up like this? I wondered, kicking a pebble on the sidewalk. What is wrong with me? The thought of another failed attempt at love loomed over me like a dark cloud, threatening to swallow me whole. For a moment, I felt my resolve wane, like the last flickering candle in a storm.

Trudging along, my shoulders slumped under the weight of disappointment. I had hoped this date would rekindle my belief in romance, but instead, it had plunged me deeper into the abyss of doubt.

Is it wrong to expect too much on a first date? I pondered, frowning at the ground. I mean, haven’t they heard that first impressions count? The more I thought about it, the more frustration bubbled within me. Why couldn’t he have dressed a little better? Or at least considered how I might feel in my gorgeous outfit?

Just as I reached the corner of my street, an unexpected sight caught my eye. An elderly lady stood on the sidewalk, her hair silver like moonlight and her smile wide and warm. In her hands was a small cart filled with colorful ice cream cones.

“Excuse me, dear,” she called out, her voice as sweet as honey. “Would you like some ice cream?”

I stopped, taken aback. “Um, I—”

“Just a little treat to brighten your spirits!” the lady interjected, offering a scoop of vanilla swirled with rainbow sprinkles. “You look like you could use it. Trust me, it’ll melt your sorrows away.”

The warmth in her voice made my heart flutter. I hesitated, feeling both touched and bewildered by this unexpected kindness. “Thank you, but I—”

The lady leaned in closer, her eyes twinkling with mischief. “I have a feeling your life will become better after this, you know. Ice cream has a way of bringing happiness, dear.”

I smiled, a flicker of hope igniting in my chest. “You really think so?”

“Absolutely! Just believe,” she said, her smile unwavering as she handed over the cone.

I took the ice cream, savoring the moment. “Thank you!” I called after her as she turned to walk away. But when I glanced back, she had vanished, as if she had melted into thin air.

A chill ran down my spine. It felt as though she had never been there at all—a figment of my imagination in a moment of despair. Shaking my head in disbelief, I shrugged it off, the ice cream cone still in my hand.

As I walked the remaining path to my apartment, the coolness of the ice cream against my palm felt oddly comforting. The sprinkles sparkled under the streetlights, and I took a tentative lick, feeling the sweetness flood my senses.

For the first time that evening, a small smile crept onto my face. Maybe there’s a glimmer of hope after all, I thought, allowing myself to relish the treat. The icy sweetness melted on my tongue, washing away some of the weight I felt.

But as I entered my apartment, the flicker of hope was still clouded by doubt. Would I really find happiness again? Or was I destined to navigate this tumultuous sea of relationships without ever reaching the shore?

With a sigh, I settled into my living room, the ice cream slowly melting in my hand.

Maybe the old lady was right, I pondered, looking out the window at the night sky dotted with stars. Perhaps happiness wasn’t too far away.

But for now, as I took another lick of the ice cream, I couldn’t shake the lingering feeling of dejection. The world felt heavy on my shoulders, and just like the ice cream, I wished my sorrows could simply melt away.

Leaning back on the couch, the remnants of my sweet treat dripped onto my fingers. I couldn’t shake the cryptic words of the old lady from my mind, nor could I ignore the sudden warmth spreading through my heart.

What if life did get better? What if there was still hope for me?

As I contemplated these thoughts, a notification pinged on my phone, lighting up with a new message.

Maybe it’s time for a change, I thought, curiosity piquing as I reached for my phone, wondering what awaited me next. I opened the message, half-expecting another spam SMS. "Would you like an overhaul of your love relationship? We can help..."

Rolling my eyes, I muttered to myself, “Great, just what I need—another one of those annoying ads.” As I read the words again, I couldn't help but chuckle sarcastically. “Hell yeah, I would need an overhaul of my love life,” I said aloud, shaking my head at my own desperation.

With a sigh, I tossed my phone aside, the fleeting glimmer of hope from the ice cream fading. Maybe it was just one of those nights where everything felt heavy and exhausting. I decided to retire to bed, hoping that tomorrow would bring a fresh perspective.

The next morning, I jolted awake, blinking against the sunlight streaming through my window. Something felt… off. My body felt lighter, almost buoyant. Confused, I sat up and swung my legs over the side of the bed, the cool floor grounding me.

I glanced at the mirror across the room and froze.

“I’m ....wait what's this? No. This… is my skin! This is MY FACE!” I gasped, rushing to the mirror, my heart racing. Staring back at me was my 24-year-old self, vibrant and fresh, not a wrinkle in sight. “What kind of anti-aging sorcery…?”

I touched my cheeks, pinching the skin to confirm it wasn’t a dream. It felt real—smooth and youthful. My hair was long and luscious, flowing down my back like a waterfall of silk. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

“What the hell just happened?”

As I stared at my youthful face in the mirror, I struggled to process the surreal revelation in front of me. My skin glowed with a vibrancy I hadn’t seen in years, and my eyes sparkled with a sense of youthfulness that felt foreign yet exhilarating. I lifted my hands to touch my cheeks, half-expecting the reflection to shatter like a glass mirror, revealing the reality of my forty-year-old self. But the image remained intact, and as I took a deep breath, my phone rang, jolting me out of my daze.

Blackpink’s "Kill This Love" blasted through the air, vibrating my very core. I fumbled for the phone, still trying to comprehend my reflection. Without glancing at the screen, I answered, my mind still caught in the confusion of the moment.

“H-hello?” My voice trembled, unsure if I was ready for any more surprises.

“Hello, Miss Arisa! I’m Michael, calling from Second Chance at Love. We received your application for an overhaul in your love life. Thank you for believing in our service!” His cheery tone felt like a jolt of caffeine straight to my bewildered brain.

“W-wait? What did you say?” My heart raced as the pieces fell into a jumbled mess. Second Chance at Love? An overhaul? What the hell is this nonsense?

“I’m Michael from Second Chance at Love.” He continued, oblivious to my disbelief. “Well, we have verbal records that you did apply. If you want to withdraw your application, I’m afraid it’s currently impossible, Miss. Rest assured, we have received 100% satisfaction reviews with our service.”

Stupefied, I tried to grasp the situation. “Verbal records? What are you talking about? I didn’t apply for anything!”

There was a brief silence on the line before Michael chimed in again, his voice unyieldingly chipper. “I just sent you the verbal records of your application. You should receive it right about now.”

As if on cue, a notification chimed on my phone. “Hold on…” I said, my voice shaky as I opened the message. “Sure, Miss Arisa. I will hold the line,” Michael replied, still exuding enthusiasm.

When I checked my messages, I saw a notification from last night that I had ignored. Curiosity piqued, I opened the voice message file and pressed play. My voice came through, echoing my words from last night—my thoughts of wanting to overhaul my love life. My heart dropped into my stomach.

What’s going on? I thought, trying to wrap my mind around the impossible.

“Hello? Michael, is it?” I asked, needing confirmation that this wasn’t some elaborate prank.

“Yes, Miss Arisa! Are you ready to move forward with your first blind date?”

“Wait! Wait... I’m confused right now.”

“Oh, not to worry! That’s normal. Most of our clients are like that,” he assured me, his cheerful tone now bordering on condescending. I could almost picture the sympathetic smile plastered on his face.

“We have an app that can help speed things up and get you started,” he added, his excitement palpable. “This is why I was calling—to walk you through the app and the little intricacies of our services. Tell you what—why don’t you give our service a try first and then decide later? We do offer a free seven-day trial for the app.”

I hung up the phone, my mind still spinning. This had to be some kind of bizarre prank or a sick joke. But the persistent idea that perhaps I was experiencing a second chance at life whispered at the back of my mind.

Sitting down on my bed, I checked the App Store to download the app suggested by Michael. When I searched for Second Chance at Love, a heart icon adorned with cupids appeared. I hesitated for a moment, eyeing the app’s five-star rating and countless rave reviews. What kind of service is this?

First, the ice cream lady, then the weird ads, now this phone call and app. Was I living in some fantastical parallel universe? My heart pounded in my chest.

Yes, this must still be a dream, I told myself, gripping the edges of my bed as if it might anchor me to reality. But I didn’t go back in time. The date is still 2024. What is going on?

Deciding to roll with it instead of dwelling in confusion, I focused on the workday ahead. As a fashion mogul, I owned a consultancy that helped women dress with confidence. My designs graced the runways, and I had built a brand that stood tall in the fashion industry.

After a quick shower, I dressed in a chic, tailored blazer that emphasized my newfound youth, accompanied by a sleek pencil skirt that hugged my curves just right. I admired my reflection for a moment longer, still grappling with the peculiarity of it all.

As I made my way to work, I felt a sense of purpose creeping back in. But that was swiftly interrupted by a traffic roadblock up ahead.

Ugh, just my luck, I thought, rolling my eyes. The police officers seemed to be conducting inspections on motorists. When it was finally my turn, I rolled down my window and encountered a stern-looking officer.

“License and ID, please,” he instructed curtly.

I fumbled through my bag, the contents spilling out like a chaotic reminder of my life. As I handed over my license, I noticed the officer’s puzzled expression as he checked my ID multiple times, alternating between my youthful visage and the woman in the photo who was clearly past forty.

“This should be interesting,” I muttered under my breath, feeling the weight of awkward silence press down on me. I felt my cheeks flush with embarrassment, and I could almost hear the clock ticking down the seconds until he would ask the inevitable question.

“Miss, could you please move over to the side?” he finally said, breaking the tension.

“What? Is there something wrong?” I stammered, panic rising in my throat. “My license isn’t expired. I just renewed it this month!”

“It’s not that, Miss,” he replied, his tone implying I should have understood. “Please park at the side so we can further verify you.”

Verify me? Why? It hit me like a ton of bricks: my face! My ID and driver’s license showed a picture of my forty-year-old self. I cursed under my breath and obediently parked my car to the side, my heart racing.

As I sat there, I could feel the seconds stretch into hours. My smartwatch buzzed, indicating that I had half an hour before my client arrived. I took a deep breath and tried to maintain some semblance of calm.

Would this day ever end? Just when I thought I was ready to embrace the new opportunities of my life, the universe decided to throw me another curveball. I leaned back in my seat, my thoughts racing.

What on earth is happening?

Suddenly, the officer approached my window, and I prepared for the worst. He leaned down, looking directly at me with an eyebrow raised. “Miss, can you explain why there’s a discrepancy between your ID and your appearance?”

Taking a deep breath, I gathered my thoughts. “Well, you see... I—”

Before I could explain, a commotion erupted from behind me. A car horn blared, a couple of pedestrians shouted, and I turned my head to see a child chasing a soccer ball into the street.

“Hey! Watch out!” I called, instinctively lunging forward, but the officer was already moving toward the child, his serious demeanor shifting to that of a concerned protector.

The momentary distraction pulled attention away from me. I seized the opportunity, my heart pounding as I considered my next move. Was this a chance to escape or a sign that perhaps fate had other plans for me?

As the officer redirected his focus to the child, I glanced at my phone. A notification lit up the screen, and I opened the app from Second Chance at Love.

“Sign up for your free trial,” it prompted. A rush of exhilaration surged through me. Maybe this was the universe’s way of nudging me forward. What if I really was meant to embrace this second chance?

With a flick of my thumb, I registered for the trial. The app required a profile photo. I glanced in the rearview mirror, my youthful reflection looking back at me with a mixture of hope and uncertainty. I took a selfie and uploaded my pic.

“Maybe it’s time for something new,” I whispered to myself, the weight of the day’s events settling into the background.

The officer returned, his expression softened. “Miss, sorry for the delay. Everything checks out, but we need to be vigilant.”

“Of course, officer,” I replied, my heart racing. “Thank you for keeping the community safe.”

I felt a surge of gratitude. Maybe today was the day I’d finally embrace change, and I would let my past fade into the background, just like the car behind me.

As I drove away, my heart thudded with possibility. This was just the beginning of something extraordinary.