Reuniting with Jason, my high school crush, felt like something straight out of a rom-com. Back then, I was the quiet, awkward bookworm with glasses and braces who watched him from afar. He was the golden boy—popular, athletic, and totally out of my league. So when I bumped into him years later at the grocery store, looking confident and polished, it was surreal. He didn’t just remember me—he said I looked amazing and asked me to dinner.

We met at a beautiful downtown restaurant. I was impressed by his choice and a little nervous, wondering if sparks would fly. He dove into stories from high school—football wins, old friends—and it quickly became clear that he hadn’t really moved on. I, on the other hand, had built a solid career, grown into my confidence, and left that shy girl behind.

Then came the moment that shattered the illusion. I returned from the restroom and saw Jason place something on my plate—a hair. My heart dropped. Before I could react, he waved down the waitress and loudly complained, demanding a free meal. I sat there in stunned silence as the manager apologized and comped our dinner. Outside, Jason grinned and told me this was his go-to trick when money was tight. He was still working as a promoter, just like in high school.

I realized then that Jason hadn’t grown up—he was still living in the past, using cheap stunts to get by. As soon as I got home, I blocked his number. I had idolized a version of him that never really existed. That dinner date taught me more than I expected—not just about him, but about how far I’d come. And for that, I was grateful.