I finally gathered my courage to ask the woman from my gym on a date. What seemed like a dream about to come true quickly turned into a reality I would rather forget. Let me tell you why I made a quick exit from that date.

My story begins at the Xtra Strong Gym, where I’ve been a member for about two years. Here, people come and go regularly, but I’ve managed to spot a few regulars over time. It remained a quiet place, perfect for my workouts until she walked in—a tall, athletic blonde with a cheerful demeanor.

She captivated me from the start, and we’d always seem to end up near each other, casually sharing smiles and glances. One fine day, I found the nerves to strike up a conversation with her.

“My name is Miranda. I was wondering when you’d talk to me,” she said with a laugh, and I felt my face warm up, embarrassed yet thrilled.

Her flirtatious banter left me blushing, and every interaction became a treasured moment. Eventually, we exchanged stories. She was a personal assistant to a CEO and single, just like me. We hit it off, and I finally decided to ask her out.

After a workout session, I walked her to her car and nervously posed the idea of a date. She happily agreed, insisting on making it a romantic encounter. The plan was set for Saturday at a popular Korean barbecue restaurant.

Saturday arrived with a mix of excitement and jitters. When we met at the restaurant, we spent a bit of time at the bar while waiting for our table, chatting lightly.

Once seated, though, the mood began to shift when asked, “Ishy, why is there a fire on the table?” She was unfamiliar with the concept of Korean barbecue, something quite surprising in our culturally diverse city.

I explained the idea of grilling your own food. She seemed bewildered and unenthusiastic, debating that the preparation should be done by the restaurant’s staff.

Despite my encouragement to try the interactive, fun side of it, she remained firm in her unwillingness, insisting the waitress cook for us. I felt ill at ease but went along with it.

The young waitress complied, though I could sense her judgment. Miranda’s demeanor during this exchange dulled my earlier admiration.

As the evening dragged on, we ordered dessert. It was then Miranda’s offhand comments about immigrants shocked me. She talked dismissively about them, lamenting their reliance on society’s resources.

A group nearby, clearly offended by her remarks, gave us looks of disdain, which Miranda returned unkindly. Her lack of awareness about her comments’ insensitivity was alarming, more so considering I, too, was an immigrant.

The final straw was her inability to distinguish my ethnicity, followed by further derogatory remarks. I realized I couldn’t let this behavior slide just because I was enamored with her.

Midway through dessert, I decided it was best to walk away. I excused myself, discreetly settled the bill, and left the restaurant, leaving Miranda to find her own way home.

When I got home, I blocked her contact and removed all social media connections. Her presence, once a highlight of my days, had turned into a troubling experience—too much to ignore.

Leaving Miranda was an unexpected turn in a tale I hoped would flourish. It taught me that infatuation should never overshadow the red flags of character we encounter in others.