4 Flags

Was that a little flag? Perhaps.

But this girl was walking through ATL waving her own flag. I had a good hair day — the kind that feels like divine intervention, like this was meant to be. I’m not one to toot my own horn, but even I noticed the turning heads. Between my confidence, humidity, and adrenaline… I was kind of on fire. I walked out of Arrivals feeling like Atlanta just got a little hotter, like the city should send me a thank‑you note for my service.

Then it hits me.
Oh, shit.
I’m going to intimidate him.

Ryan pulls up in a blue Porsche Cayenne. I love blue. The color grabs my attention instantly, shimmering like a giant sapphire rolling toward me. I can hardly see Ryan at first — he’s juggling a bouquet of flowers in one hand and a box of chocolates in the other, like some rom‑com hero who missed his cue but sprinted onstage anyway.

He opens the door for me. I melt into the seat, feeling oddly comfortable, like this is the most natural thing in the world. What a gentleman. What a thoughtful, old‑school romantic gesture. It’s almost disarming.

He holds my hand as we drive. His hand is warm, steady, familiar in a way that shouldn’t make sense yet. He does look handsome, and he does match his profile — even if it’s becoming increasingly clear that he isn’t 45. He’s probably close. Ish. Maybe. Depending on the lighting. And the angle. And the decade.

Thank you, Atlanta, for your generous amount of traffic. You give us plenty of time for conversation — and for me to assess whether I’ve just climbed into a Porsche with a charming man or a charming liar.

Ryan starts talking about his early career, casually dropping that he was a pioneer in encryption. He tells me about locking himself in his dorm room as an undergrad and writing the first public‑key algorithm. I nod politely, but inside my brain is doing the math. I’m pretty sure that credit belongs to someone else in the 70s. Unless Ryan is secretly 80, which would explain the age discrepancy but raise several new concerns.

It dawns on me:
I’ve intimidated the hell out of him.
He’s trying to impress me.

I remind Ryan that I have a Master’s in IT. I don’t recall public‑key cryptography happening that late, but I’m curious to hear more about his undergrad days. I also casually mention that I have no knowledge or interest in sports whatsoever. If he needs an ego boost, he can claim any trophy, medal, or championship title — I will never catch on.

And wouldn’t you know it, he does have some sports history to share. Ryan played D1 volleyball as an undergrad. He traveled all over with his team and even went on to coach the women’s Naval Academy team in Annapolis. That’s actually impressive. That’s real. That’s something I can cheer for without fact-checking on Wikipedia.

Well, that’s pretty cool.
I’ll raise some flags and cheer for that.