I read all three messages twice before I notice that the second one is different. And even then, I suspect a trap. A man who likes my photo and wants me to private-message him? He’s gaslighting me. He wants to draw me in and get my hopes up only to turn around and vilify me for being such a dumb bitch as to think someone might like me.

But what do I have to lose? That is the advantage of hitting rock bottom. You’re prepared to take chances because you have no expectations that anything will get better. I wipe peach juice from my mouth with my sleeve and click on the guy’s profile.

His name is Eugene Huzain and he lives in Cape Town. His location-finder is active, so Cinder tells me he is one kilometre away from me right now. I double-check to make sure my location-finder is off. Of all the creepy and disconcerting functions of Cinder, this one—which sends you constant messages to let you know when someone whose profile you have viewed comes within a two-kilometre radius of you—is the worst.

He looks like he isn’t thirty yet. He has dark-brown hair and light-brown skin. There is ironic stubble on his chin. A grey, oversized beanie cups the back of his head and droops onto his shoulder. His face is thin and ascetic and improbably beautiful. I suspect Photoshop.

I like craft beer and movies with subtitles. I am a feminist ally and an animal-lover. Looking for an empowered woman to spend time with.

I wonder whether he is taking the piss. There are a few men who would be prepared to describe themselves as feminists (not many, but a few), but it takes a particular kind of awareness to describe yourself as a feminist ally. I’m not trying to appropriate your struggle, is what he seems to be saying, but I want to support you in it.

And he is actively looking for an empowered woman? Well, that lets me out. It’s hard to imagine anyone less empowered than I am. But I aspire to empoweredness. Does that count?

I click on my profile picture to remind myself what I (or rather, Moira) posted. Kind eyes? I don’t see it. More like haunted eyes. Perhaps it is the damage in me that attracts him. Do I really want to waste weeks of my life only to discover I’m feeding someone’s saviour complex? No, I don’t.

I put my phone down.

* * *

Two minutes later, I pick it up again.