Too Beautiful to Approach

I never thought I’d be here at 45, sitting in my cozy apartment, sipping a glass of wine, and pondering my love life—or lack thereof. My friends and family always told me how beautiful I was, and I believed them. I saw the way men looked at me, how they would glance my way in cafes or the grocery store. But somehow, no one ever approached me, and I was still single.

At first, it didn’t bother me. I had my career, my hobbies, my friends. I was an independent woman who didn’t need a relationship to feel complete. But as the years went by, the absence of romantic prospects started to weigh on me. I watched as my friends got married, had children, and moved into new stages of their lives. Meanwhile, I stayed in the same place, wondering why I was always left behind.

Tonight, after another Friday night spent alone, I found myself staring at my reflection in the mirror. “Maybe I’m just too beautiful,” I thought, tilting my head to one side as I examined my face. My skin was still smooth, my hair thick and shiny. I had kept my figure fit, and my green eyes sparkled just as much as they had in my twenties.

It wasn’t vanity—I genuinely believed my beauty might be the problem. Perhaps I intimidated people. Maybe men thought I was out of their league or assumed I was already taken. It was a nice thought, really, that my looks could have such a powerful effect. But deep down, it wasn’t very comforting. Being beautiful wasn’t enough to keep me warm at night or make me laugh when I was down.

I sighed and set my wine glass down on the counter. “Come on, Linda,” I whispered to myself. “You can’t just sit here feeling sorry for yourself.”

Determined to change my mindset, I decided to go for a walk. It was a mild evening, and the fresh air might clear my head. As I strolled down the street, I noticed a couple holding hands, their laughter echoing through the night. I felt a pang of envy but pushed it aside. I had to believe that my time would come.

I walked past a small coffee shop, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk. A man stood outside, fiddling with his phone. He looked up as I approached and smiled.

“Excuse me,” he said, his voice kind and tentative. “Do you know if this place is still open?”

I glanced at the sign. “Looks like they close in five minutes.”

“Ah, just my luck,” he replied, chuckling. “I was hoping to grab a coffee before they shut down.”

“Well, there’s another place just around the corner that stays open later,” I offered, pointing down the street.

“Thanks,” he said, his eyes lingering on mine for a moment longer than usual. “I’m Ben, by the way.”

“Linda,” I responded, surprised at how easily the conversation was flowing.

“Nice to meet you, Linda,” Ben said, still smiling. “If you’re not busy, would you like to join me for a coffee? I could use some company.”

I hesitated for a second, caught off guard. Maybe it wasn’t my beauty that was keeping people away. Maybe it was my own hesitation, my own fear of putting myself out there. I took a deep breath and smiled back at him.

“I’d like that,” I replied.

As we walked toward the other coffee shop, I realized that perhaps being beautiful wasn’t a curse after all. Maybe, just maybe, I needed to open myself up to the possibilities, to let people in. And tonight, with Ben by my side, I was ready to start.