I felt my hands trembling, but I still went to the table trying not to show it. He didn’t even bother to hide his attitude.

“What did you even put on?” he sneered, eyeing my dress. “Your sides are bulging, your stomach shows. Aren’t you ashamed?”

I froze; it felt like something inside my chest had broken.

“I wore the best I have,” I answered quietly.

He burst out laughing loudly so that the neighboring tables turned to look at us.

“So that’s your best? My God — I don’t even want to imagine what other rags you have.”

I stood there with tears welling up, and he didn’t stop:

“Why did you even message me? Do you think men like me go out with women like you? Let me be clear: I’m not going to pay for you. It’s enough that I saw you in person — and I already regret it.”