After exploring the depths of Tinder solely through the app, discussing interests and past flings with men I did not know, and some I really had no interest in beyond testing my internet communication skills, I felt restless. What was I really trying to accomplish? Does any of this have a point or a goal?

I was nearing the end of my Tinder-for-a-week schedule, still swiping when I should have been studying probably, and found myself beholding a different kind of profile. Thomas* was twenty-three, ridiculously handsome with what looked like all professional photos on his profile, an Instagram that matched who he claimed to be, and a bio with only one line, claiming to talk to matches in haikus.

"I'll swipe for fun." I thought, remembering the last three model profiles I matched with who were clearly ripped right from Tumblr.

Not expecting anything to come from it, probably not even a conversation, I resumed studying for finals leaving my phone face down. When I finally left the library at around 2:00 a.m., I checked my phone while walking in the rain to find, low and behold, a haiku written in response to factoids found in my profile. I smiled, it was a cute touch, but I was more shocked than anything. Why is gorgeous Thomas talking to me? I would have to indulge... and research this fake, I told myself.

A week passed and we talked with every free second I had. I was disturbed to say the least. It's kind of rare that I meet someone more articulate than me, a writer and a 3.9 GPA college student...let alone on a f*cking dating app. Everything he said was like well-organized prose. And the extremely detailed google image search and background testing I did proved that his face was more than likely as beautiful as his pictures provided. After asking me to coffee nine times and claiming to be "nearby campus" every few hours, I took the bait.

Opting to be in control of the situation, I suggested we meet in the middle of my work day after finals were over so that there would be a 2-hour max time frame and an easy way out. He agreed. I applied lipstick and took an Uber, ordering us both coffee before he got there to avoid awkwardness. I saw him across the street walking my way and pretended to not notice. I was terrified.

And I didn't die! I survived the nearly two and a half hours we spent together on 2nd and Jackson, something I was skeptical of after spending the morning portion of my work day googling "Top Ten Tinder Do's and Don't's" and contemplating how to get myself stuck in an elevator. But, alas, there was no spark. Thomas was hard to read, his facial expressions and mannerisms confusing to watch, and he spent most of the date talking about himself despite all of my pre-thought-of answers to questions like "Tell me about your family!" or "Have you ever been in love?".

When we left each other, after a very awkward and air-light hug, I felt extremely awake. It seemed that, even when dates go awry, from the internet or not, they serve a more long-term purpose. Walking back to my office, I silently thanked gorgeous, non-spark-forming Thomas for showing me in under three hours things I was not looking for because every step in the wrong direction helped make my path to the right one all that much clearer.

*Names have been changed to protect the boring and beautiful.