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“Then don’t.” Clara’s fingers moved off-screen. “I’m pasting something in the chat. My Signal ID. No pressure. But if you want to keep poking me…”

Leo didn’t know what to say to that. So he told the truth. “I’m writing a thesis on why cities make people lonely. But honestly? I think the internet makes it worse. We’re all just… poking each other with sticks from afar.”

0:10.

They stared at each other for a beat too long. The screen had a timer: 3:00. 2:58. A countdown until the next random match.

The thesis was done. Leo stood in baggage claim at Lisbon Airport, holding a sign that didn’t have a name—just a drawing of a horse mask with a question mark. Libre Roulette Webcam Sexe

Click.

He scrambled for his phone. The digits appeared in the text box. He typed them in, hands shaking. “Then don’t

0:05.

“You’re still here,” he replied.

“Montreal. You?”

A pixelated image resolved: a man in Mumbai, shirtless, eating a mango, who immediately gave him the finger and disconnected. No pressure