A few years ago, I went on a date with a guy I met online. He seemed charming — funny messages, good taste in movies, and polite enough to insist on paying for the tickets. We decided to meet at the cinema one Friday night.

Inside, everything felt normal at first. He went to grab the drinks while I picked up popcorn and candy. We settled into our seats just as the trailers started. I remember taking a sip of my soda — it tasted a bit off, almost metallic — but I brushed it off, thinking maybe the ice had melted too much.

Half an hour into the movie, my head began to spin. The room tilted, colors smeared together, and my heart raced for no reason I could explain. I told him I needed some air and stumbled toward the exit. The last thing I remember was the theater lights flickering above me before everything went black.

When I woke up, I was lying on the cold floor in the lobby, surrounded by staff and a paramedic. My vision cleared slowly — and he was gone.

The manager told me someone had called for help after finding me unconscious near the door. They’d checked the CCTV footage — my date had left just a minute after I collapsed, without saying a word.

Later, at the hospital, the doctors said my blood tests showed traces of a sedative — the kind that shouldn’t be in anyone’s drink. I gave the police his name, his dating profile, everything. But by the time they tried to trace him, the account was deleted. The number he’d given me was disconnected too.

For weeks, I couldn’t stop wondering what would have happened if I hadn’t noticed the dizziness in time. The thought still chills me — that I’d trusted a stranger who smiled so easily.

Now, every time someone suggests meeting online, I hesitate. I still go on dates, but I always get my own drink.