Moving to a new city is weird. You spend the first week amazed by the architecture and the cheap coffee, and the second week realizing you haven't spoken to a human being offline in six days. That was me last month. I was sitting in my empty apartment, surrounded by unpacked boxes and a towering stack of paperbacks, feeling that specific kind of expat isolation that hits you on a Tuesday night.
I decided I needed to force myself out of the bubble. I wasn't necessarily looking for a relationship, just a conversation that didn't involve ordering a latte. I signed up for latidreams because a friend mentioned it was decent for meeting locals who were actually interested in chatting, not just swiping. I uploaded a few photos—mostly travel shots and one of me squinting in the sun—and started browsing.
That’s when I saw Elena’s profile. It wasn't her smile that caught me, though it was nice. It was the background of her second photo. Behind her was a bookshelf that looked dangerously overloaded, and right at eye level, I spotted a very specific, obscure sci-fi trilogy I’ve been obsessed with since college. You know the kind—the one nobody else has read, so you stop bringing it up at parties.
I messaged her, skipping the usual "Hi, how are you?" and pointing straight to the book spine in the photo. "Is that the vintage edition of Hyperion?"
She replied ten minutes later. "It is. And if you tell me the Shrike is your favorite character, I'm blocking you."
We started talking. It wasn't some cinematic whirlwind of romance. It was just... easy. We argued about plot holes and swapped recommendations. A few days later, we agreed to meet at a bookstore café downtown.
I was nervous. Meeting people from the internet is always a coin toss. I got there early, ordered a black coffee, and immediately managed to spill a bit of it on my shirt. Great start. When Elena arrived, she didn't look like a model or a movie star; she looked like a real person who had rushed from work. She was wearing a raincoat and looked a bit tired, which honestly made me relax.
We didn't have immediate, lightning-bolt chemistry. The first ten minutes were actually kind of stiff. We talked about the weather and the traffic. But then I mentioned I was currently rereading Dune, and her eyes lit up. The stiffness vanished. We spent the next two hours dissecting the philosophy of Frank Herbert versus Asimov. We realized our "top 5" authors list was almost identical, right down to the specific translations we preferred.
It felt grounding. In a city where I felt like an alien, finding someone who spoke my specific literary language made the streets feel a little less hostile. We’re not planning a wedding or anything crazy. We’re just two people who like the same stories, hanging out and exploring the city one bookstore at a time. And honestly, that’s exactly what I needed.
A few things I learned from this:
Look at the background: Profile photos tell you more than the bio. A guitar, a hiking boot, or a specific book spine can give you an actual conversation starter.
Skip the small talk: If you see a shared interest, dive right in. Asking "How is your week?" gets you a generic answer. Asking about their favorite author gets you a real conversation.
Accept the awkwardness: The first fifteen minutes of meeting a stranger will always be clumsy. Push through it. Once you find that common ground—whether it's books, food, or bad 80s movies—the rhythm will settle in naturally.
