I glanced back to check on Ian, and there he was, a good ten feet behind me, sprinting at full throttle. So much for our romantic moonlit hand-in-hand walk. If we were going to have any kind of conversation, it seemed like it would involve me carrying him, and that was definitely not on my agenda.

We exited the courtyard of my apartment building and strolled along the tree-lined sidewalk, heading toward the trendy pedestrian mall a few blocks away from the university. The neighborhood was a mix of new condos, older renovated apartments like mine, and charming boutique shops and eateries. I tried to maintain a leisurely pace, my usual long strides shortened by my heels. I wasn't actively trying to ditch Ian, but it quickly became clear that I'd be leaving him in the dust if I didn't occasionally pause to let him catch up.

Thankfully, it was a delightful, cool April evening, which spared Ian from turning into a sweaty mess. He attempted to strike up a conversation as he got closer, but I decided to play it cool. I'd flash a pleasant smile, nod along as if I were interested, and then, just before he reached me, I'd gracefully turn around and continue walking. I was pissed and I would have it out with him about all of this, but not now, not in the middle of this weird "catch the giant girl" chase.

Afton, your typical affluent Virginia college town, had a unique twist. It stood as one of those rare gems that had largely escaped the worst of the pandemic's devastation, thanks to an unexpected factor: the scarcity of people with the dreaded OPA and MNE genes. Sure, everyone eventually caught the bug, but very few experienced its most unusual consequences. The college students had been sent packing years ago when the university temporarily closed its doors, barely scraping by on its endowment. This resulted in mass layoffs for most of the faculty and staff, including my parents. The newcomers and people without local ties had long since left town, seeking refuge back home. That left us, the true-blue townies, most of whom traced their roots back to the original settlers , bearing no trace of the vulnerable genes.

But, naturally, in other corners of the globe, the exact opposite scenario was playing out—whole towns resembling something straight out of Lilliput.

Seeing an Opa or even a smaller Mini on the streets was a rare sight, to say the least. Occasionally, you'd spot an Opa—like one of my new co-workers, who had evidently shrunk from my height to a dainty three feet tall. As for the Minis, well, the world was still figuring out what to do with them. I mean, what do you do with a group of people who couldn't lift a pen, safely navigate a sidewalk, manipulate a smartphone, or even hold a conversation without shouting to be heard? It was a conundrum.

Some people advocated for limited rights, making them wards of the state, keeping a close watch, providing protection, and maintaining control. Others pushed for full equality, demanding that they be treated just like any other person. I mostly fell into the latter camp, although I couldn't help but wonder how truly free one could be if the simple act of going for a walk meant risking being squashed by a careless toddler. That was my concern, not the concept of equality but the practicality of it. Accidentally stepping on one was my nightmare. Gracefulness wasn't exactly my strong suit, and I had a knack for getting lost in my thoughts. Just the mere thought of being around a Mini made me incredibly nervous.

The sidewalks buzzed with newly returned Ficklin University students, all basking in the warmth of the first April weekend of the spring semester. It had been years since the last in-person semester, with only the Nexies remaining online as the university figured out the myriad details to safely bring them back to campus. It was still early, but the blend of young adults and college students was already making its way to the bars, clubs, and restaurants that lined the street.

It seemed to me that we might be the only mixed-size couple in the entire mall, or at least the only couple catching everyone’s attention. Apparently, the spectacle of an Opa trying to keep pace with a tall woman made for amusing street theater. I couldn't say for certain if we looked like a couple, but it was crystal clear that Ian was in hot pursuit of me. Passersby couldn't help but snicker and exchange whispers as we walked by. A group of girls even burst into laughter, with one shouting, "Don't give up, little guy! You can catch her if you try harder! Just run faster!" I couldn't help but feel a mix of embarrassment and amusement.

Glancing back at Ian, who was sprinting in a futile attempt to bridge the gap between us, I couldn't resist a small smile. I hoped he felt the sting of humiliation, being the object of ridicule for all the towering women looking down at him. "Serves him right," I muttered, but a pang of shame quickly followed. I was angry and hurt, sure, but this wasn't the right way to handle it. This was Ian—my Ian. I'd fallen for him, or at least the Ian I met online, and I would never have wished this on him before tonight. This whole charade felt petty and mean.

I looked down at Ian again and it dawned on me that at his vantage point he had a perfect view of my ass. “Oh my God! “I hissed through gritted teeth. Has he been looking up my dress this entire time? I can’t believe this tiny perv is looking up my dress! A voice in my head piped up, a protest from the "Good Gwen" side of me, you know, that sunny, Disney-princess version who's never encountered a truly bad person in her life. She started nagging at me. "Why are you getting so worked up about this?" the voice inquired. "After all, you've been sexting and exchanging nude pics with him for the past four months."

My thoughts were interrupted by Ian’s squeaky voice, "Wait! Wait! I need a moment," he called out. I halted in my tracks and spun around. He was twenty feet behind me, hunched over against a garbage can, his face flushed, and his breathing labored. I strolled back toward him, wearing an expression of sheer puzzlement, as if I were entirely clueless about his struggles to keep up.

"What's wrong?" I asked with all the innocence I could muster.

Ian gasped between breaths. "I just need a moment to catch my breath."

Raising an eyebrow, I replied, "But I thought you were a regular hiker and runner?"

"I am," Ian replied, his voice strained, "but this feels more like sprinting."

With a feigned air of ignorance, I remarked, "Ian, it's just a short walk. I'm wearing heels, and my feet aren't even hurting." I watched him incredulously, waiting for the inevitable. The first comment, the first complaint, the first plea to slow down—or worse, the request to be carried like a baby. I placed my hands on my knees and peered down at him, not really caring if he was looking up at my dress anymore. "Come on, say something, pipsqueak," I mused to myself, "Just admit you can't keep up with the big, mean bitch."

But to my surprise, Ian just looked up and flashed that dazzling smile of his (seriously, he had such a gorgeous smile!). "I'm good," he said brightly. "Let's keep going!"

“We need to hurry.” I replied flatly, “or we’ll miss our reservation.”

I couldn't have cared less if we ended up being late; I just wanted to watch him sweat trying to keep up with me. Or at least, that's what I thought I wanted. As I swiveled on my heels, fully intending to lengthen my strides and pick up the pace, that persistent voice in my head started to suck all the satisfaction out of my revenge and punishment plot. "Why are you being so cruel?" it persistently prodded. "I get that you're pissed, but this is just wrong."

Gradually, I began to slow down and stopped even more frequently. That annoying voice was right. I'd never relished watching anyone suffer, even when I had strong reasons to dislike them, and I most definitely didn't hate Ian. In fact, I was head over heels in love with the guy. I'd even blurted out an "I love you" during a late-night phone call three months ago, as I drifted in and out of sleep—an event that had sparked ongoing discussions about the future of our relationship.

The truth was, I was seething with anger, but beneath it all, Ian had deeply wounded me. I had trusted him completely, and now that trust was shattered. If only he had told me earlier! But then, what? I brushed away a tear that had escaped down my cheek. Of course, if I had known about his condition from the start, I might have put the brakes on our relationship at the first sign it was moving beyond friendship. But now, it has progressed well beyond that point. I couldn't simply switch off the feelings I had for him. Just an hour ago, I had seen Ian as close to perfect. Now? Well, he was everything I ever wanted in a man, except for being four feet too short.

The nagging voice wouldn't let up. "Fine," I conceded to myself with an internal sigh, "I'll attempt to be an adult about this." I stopped seeking pleasure in turning our date into a living hell for him, but I had no intentions of sparing his feelings either.

We miraculously arrived at Céline's with only a minute to spare. Ian was panting but wore a triumphant look. I peered down at him, bemused. "Congrats, Ian," I thought to myself, "you conquered a whole six blocks. What's next? Scaling a flight of stairs?" I couldn't help but think about how minuscule he appeared. With my heels on, he barely reached mid-calf. At that moment, I wasn't entirely sure if Ian qualified as an Opa; he looked more like a Mini.

Comparing the size of my feet and calves to his body made me feel absolutely enormous—like King Kong holding that tiny woman in his giant ape hand. Standing next to him dredged up memories from middle school when I had shot up a foot and a half in sixth grade. Back then, I was all gangly limbs, and all the boys seemed like hobbits. I even outgrew most of the teachers. None of the boys had shown any interest in the awkward, clumsy giant that was me. And now, here I was, facing a similar situation.

I glanced at the restaurant door, then down at Ian, who was gazing up at me expectantly. Oops, it seemed I was responsible for ensuring my itty-bitty date could navigate through this ginourmous world. I glanced down to make sure he had clearance from the doorway and carefully held the door open for him. How on earth did he manage to get around? That was a question that continued to boggle my mind.

Céline's, like many other businesses along the mall, was housed in an old Victorian building, in this case, a former tobacco warehouse. Retrofitting these historic structures for the reduced had proven to be quite the challenge, and I couldn't help but notice that only a handful of businesses had managed to complete the necessary modifications. The restaurant itself was a stunning space, featuring exposed brick walls and beautifully refinished, tobacco-stained pine plank floors. I could only assume that the building's original construction had made it quite tricky to carve out little doors and construct walkways for any tinier clientele.

Approaching the hostess's station, I was greeted by a leggy blonde woman in her early twenties who looked up and flashed a welcoming smile. "Welcome to Céline's. Are you waiting for someone?" she inquired.

"Actually, no," I replied, shaking my head and pointing toward the tiny man standing between my legs. The hostess's eyes widened slightly when she looked down, but she swiftly concealed her surprise and maintained a pleasant smile. "We're here for a reservation for two at 6:00," I explained.

"Of course. Your name?" she asked, efficiently noting down the details.

"It should be under Ian Kennon," I responded, trying to suppress my awareness of how insensitive I was being. According to all those recent university DEI small persons awareness seminars I'd attended, I was essentially "talking over and speaking for a small person." But I had to admit, I was doing it on purpose. I knew it wasn't right, and I had promised myself not to punish Ian or derive any joy from his discomfort. However, my anger was making it incredibly challenging to rein in my impulsive behavior.

"Here he is," the hostess chimed in with a smile, her actions implying that she was more than willing to disregard Ian and treat me as the sole adult in our party. “We have a lovely spot outside on the patio.” My mouth dropped. No, no, no, no. I was not in the mood to be tonight’s show of mixed-size dating couples.

"Um, I had a migraine this morning. I'm feeling better now, but I'm trying to avoid too much light," I improvised quickly. "Do you happen to have a table toward the back, maybe in a corner?"

"Oh, I'm sorry. Let me check," she said, pausing briefly. "Yes, I do. I'll just swap these reservations. If you could follow me, I'll take you to your table."

As I started following her, Ian dashed ahead and blocked my path. "Gwen, are you sure? I reserved one of the best tables here," he urged. I walked right past him, ignoring his protests.

Thankfully, the hostess led us to a dimly lit back corner, tucked away from the other customers. It was still relatively early, and my hope was that we could finish our meal and make our exit before the place filled up any further.

However, just when I thought this disastrous date couldn't get any stranger, another odd twist came our way. The table she guided us to was not at all accessible for Ian. The hostess glanced at me, sheepishly and stammered, "Um, I'm not sure we have something suitable for your...date."

"Friend," I quickly corrected her.

"Of course. Let me see what we can do. Your server will be with you shortly," the hostess replied, placing the menus on the table before hurrying back to her station. I eased myself into my chair and looked down at Ian standing by the oversized table. Even sitting in a chair, I still towered over him. "Ian, did you even call ahead to check if they had accommodations for you?" I asked.

"No, I don't usually limit myself to restaurants based on accessibility," he answered. Gripping one chair leg, he glanced up with a grin. "Don't worry, I'll manage." Ian began climbing the chair leg using both hands and feet, making his way up until he could reach the chair back and hoist his leg over the seat.

Climbing onto the chair, Ian stood up, the top of the table clearly reaching past his chest. He grinned proudly and declared, "See?" Oblivious to my stunned expression, he leaned forward over the table and stretched his arm out, attempting to grasp a menu that the hostess had thoughtlessly placed out of his reach.

I could only look at him in bewilderment. Giving up any pretense of ignoring his condition, I asked, "So, are you planning to stand on your chair for the entire meal?"

"If I have to, then yes," he replied with determination.

"Seriously?" I exclaimed, my frustration now all too evident.

"Ian! This is..."

"Hi, I'm Chloe. I'll be serving you tonight," a friendly young woman interrupted, appearing at our table.

"So, Lori told me that you guys need some help with your table. I just talked to the manager, and..."

"Hi, Chloe," I stood up and interjected, "I know this isn't your fault, and my friend should have called ahead to check for accessible tables. But we're here now, and he can't spend the whole evening standing on a chair. Just look at him; he can't even reach the flatware."

I wasn't angry because of the inaccessible table, nor was I trying to advocate for Ian's needs. I was just plain mad. It had only been an hour with him, and I was already over his tiny people problems. Ian seemed so helpless—unable to walk at an adult pace, incapable of opening doors, and dwarfed by everything around him, including me. This was just our first hour together, and it was nothing like the date I had envisioned. I didn't want to be this mean, angry shrew. I wanted to scream at someone, and unfortunately for Chloe, she had become the unwitting target.

"As for the flatware and glassware, I assume you don't have an accessible set either?" I added with irritation.

"Um, no," Chloe replied, appearing as if she'd rather be anywhere else than dealing with this seemingly unhinged woman who had suddenly transformed into the ultimate Karen.

"Wonderful," I retorted dryly.

"Gwen, I think it's best if I handle this," Ian squeaked, trying to get a word in edgewise. I was so engrossed in my complaints that I barely heard him. When I finally looked down, there he stood, between two towering women, appearing tiny and powerless. This doll-sized man who had audaciously catfished a giant. I peered down my nose at him.

"Please don't interrupt, Ian. I've got this," I replied coldly, turning my attention back to Chloe.

“It’s been over a year, since the emergency mandates have been lifted, and you still don’t have fucking accommodations for pandemic survivors!!??”

"Gwen!" Ian interjected.

I glanced down at Ian, who was looking up at me with irritation. "Not now, pipsqueak! The big people are talking!" I hissed, shutting him down.

That was it; I had definitely crossed a line, and there was no denying it. Disney princess Gwen had morphed into a yelling, irrational ogre. "What is wrong with you? This girl has done nothing to you! You're being a horrible bitch!" I scolded myself internally, feeling smaller than Ian at that moment and wishing I could just disappear into a hole. I turned around, fighting back tears, and muttered a feeble, "Sorry," to no one in particular.

Ian's jaw practically hit the floor, and Chloe's face went from anger to something more akin to understanding. She glanced at me for a moment, then closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. When she looked down at Ian, she gracefully dropped to her knees. "Hi, Mr. Kennon, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to ignore you. As I was telling your... umm, date."

"Hi, Chloe. You can call me Ian. It's nice to meet you. I apologize; my girlfriend can be a little overprotective sometimes," Ian replied with a warm smile.

"I'm sorry I didn't mean to interrupt. Please continue," Ian said.

"No worries, Ian," Chloe said, giving him a compassionate look. "We're committed to providing a fantastic experience for all our guests. I've spoken with my manager, and here's the scoop on retrofitting our space to accommodate little people. Over the past year, we've been holding ongoing discussions with our architect and contractors. Accessible furniture and furnishings were ordered six months ago, but due to supply chain issues, we haven't received them yet. Our vendor expects the shipment in the next two weeks. We're planning to close for a month during the summer for renovations. We apologize for any inconvenience this may cause. I did find a highchair in the storage room, and I can check if we have any smaller flatware. However, we are a child-free restaurant, so I can't make any promises, but I'll see what I can do."

Ian flashed a charming smile and performed what I could only describe as diplomatic magic. With a graceful mix of charm and self-deprecating humor, he expertly diffused my earlier temper tantrum. He apologized for my behavior without throwing me under the bus, subtly painting me in a more sympathetic light. Then, with effortless finesse, he showered Chloe with compliments for her efforts to make us happy and effortlessly transitioned into casual conversation about her life. His warmth, sincerity, and genuine interest were palpable, and I couldn't help but watch with begrudging admiration. Ian had a real knack for this.

The conversation ended with Chloe standing up, laughing at one of Ian's jokes. She practically radiated positivity. "I'll go check on that chair, Ian. I'll be right back."

Ian gracefully hopped down from his chair and turned his attention to me. It was hard to tell if he was angry at me for making a scene and calling him a "pipsqueak" earlier. He looked more concerned than anything else.

"Are you okay?" he asked with genuine worry.

Shame washed over me. I couldn't meet his gaze and just looked down, feeling utterly embarrassed.

"I mean, I know we've never been together in real life, but I've never seen you act this way," he continued, trying to understand.

At that, I shot him a glare. He should know exactly why I was upset! Why was he acting so befuddled about my behavior?

"I'm fine!" I huffed, taking my seat and grabbing a menu, pointedly ignoring him. From the corner of my eye, I peeked over the menu at him. He stood awkwardly next to his chair, wearing a defeated expression. It seemed that my outburst had finally taken the wind out of his sails. Yup, Ian, it looks like you've finally realized that this date isn't going well.

Chloe returned with a petite wooden highchair and deftly moved Ian's chair out of the way. Ian hurriedly sidestepped, avoiding a collision with the petite woman’s legs. She positioned the highchair next to mine with a warm smile. "There you go," Chloe said cheerfully, then glanced over at me. I must have looked completely blank, lost in my thoughts. After an uncomfortable silence, Chloe directed her gaze down to Ian and then back at me.

"So, ummm... we're not allowed to handle, umm... I mean touch our guests, you know, for liability reasons," she explained tentatively. "Could you help him get in his chair?"

"Oh my God," I muttered to myself, rolling my eyes at the absurdity of the situation. With a deep sigh, I rose from my chair and reached down with both hands. This was it; touching Ian for the first time, and sadly as he was my would-be boyfriend, the first time I handled a reduced man. I had assumed it would be akin to lifting and cradling a newborn; after all, he was about the same height as one. However, I soon discovered that this was far from the truth.

Describing it as "weird" would be a massive understatement. Lifting Ian felt more like handling a living, breathing doll – I know, I kept using that word, but it was the most fitting description. It made me think of how I'd never liked dolls, not even as a child; they had always given me the creeps. Yet here I was, on a date with what felt like a doll. I half-expected his skin and hair to be made of plastic, not living flesh. My hands easily encircled his torso, with my fingers extending across his hips to his chest. I could feel his minuscule hands grasping my fingers, like a tiny, fragile creature seeking comfort.

I glanced down, noting that his wrists were just slightly thicker than my fingers. My touch confirmed the presence of firm abs and well-sculpted pecs. He was undeniably a perfectly formed, beautifully sculpted man, just in miniature. As I gently lifted him, expecting it to be akin to lifting a baby, I was surprised by how incredibly light he felt. It was more akin to picking up a kitten, which made me realize that I could probably lift him with just one hand. Ian's body was delicate, incredibly so. His tiny arms and legs were connected by delicate sinews and muscles, surrounding bones that seemed no thicker than twigs. I had seen Opas before, but I had never held one, let alone one as small as Ian. The experience of holding a human so tiny was surreal to the point of being almost incomprehensible. Despite his impressive physique, Ian was incredibly fragile, like a piece of fine porcelain that I could easily break if I were careless.

I placed him in the highchair and nearly laughed out loud. He looked so ridiculous. All of this was so comical. I just put my date in a highchair, I thought. I shook my head ruefully and settled back into my chair. Ian looked up at me as I returned, saying, "Thank you, Gwen." All I managed to reply with was a simple "Yup," hiding behind my menu.

"Hmmm... I thought this would work," Chloe mused, drawing my attention away from the menu. She was, peering down at Ian, who was now sitting in the highchair, only to discover its tray was level with his chin. It turned out that even the dining chair designed for babies and toddlers was too big for him.

Both Chloe and Ian looked at me with bated breath, assuming I was about to have a new tantrum. Ian laughed. “Wow! This town must have some big babies! No wonder management doesn’t allow them on the premises!”

Chloe, attempted to stifle a giggle but failed at Ian’s joke. “You have no idea, Ian. They are huge!” she replied laughing.

Ian thumped the tray with the palm of his hand. “This is fine Chloe, I think I can manage.” “No, Ian, I want you to be comfortable.” She replied. Chloe put her hand to her chin. “Let me see..hmmm...” She smiled and looked at Ian. “I got it! I’ll be right back!” Without waiting for a reply, she turned on her heels and rushed back to the kitchen.

We both waited in awkward silence, Ian sat in his oversized chair looking forlornly at the other tables. I remain hidden behind the menu. I sighed and ruminated over the decision to go out with him. I should have had this fight with him at my apartment. I should have told him how I felt and sent him away. But therein lay the dilemma – I wasn't entirely sure I wanted him to leave. If this were just a first date, it would be easier to brush off, but it wasn't. I had invested so much in this relationship, and right now, all I yearned for was to turn back the clock to a time when I believed Ian was a full-sized man, back when I was lost in the fantasy of being with him in our perfect long-distance relationship.

“Ok, Ian let’s try this.” I looked up, Chloe had returned, looking cheerier than ever. I didn’t mean to dislike her, but her damned sunny disposition was setting my teeth on edge. She was holding a stack of paperbacks.

"I went to my car and got my textbooks out of my backpack. You have to promise me you won't mess them up," Chloe said playfully.

"Like pour a glass of wine on them?" Ian responded with a smirk, his tongue firmly in his cheek.

"That's right, mister! Don't do that!" Chloe replied, adopting a faux-stern tone. "No Béarnaise Sauce either!"

Ian and Chloe seemed to be hitting it off at this point. I was impressed by how Ian was handling the situation with grace. Most of the men I had dated, if they were in Ian's shoes, would have completely lost their shit by now, feeling utterly humiliated and belittled by two towering women treating him like a child.

But it was me who felt embarrassed. The other diners were starting to take notice of Chloe's efforts to get Ian comfortably seated. Some were openly staring, and one woman was even giggling. Ian didn't help matters either, as he climbed onto the highchair tray and engaged in a loud amiable conversation with Chloe. His comically high-pitched voice was unmistakable as the waitress placed the books on the chair one by one.

"There!" Chloe exclaimed, looking quite pleased with herself. "Give that a try." Ian clambered onto the stack of books and sat down, making it work in a fashion. He couldn't lean back against the seatback, and his legs dangled in the air, but at least the tray was now at a reasonable height.

"So, what would you like to start off with?" Chloe asked, and that was my cue to jump into action.

Ian stood on his stack of books, his eyes fixed on the menu that Chloe had opened and placed on his tray. I then reached over and grabbed Ian's menu. He looked up, surprised, as I began to rattle off our order.

"I think we'd like to start with the Pan Roasted Scallops with whipped cauliflower and golden raisin-caper butter sauce. Doesn’t that sound so interesting Ian? I'd like the Beef Tenderloin with black truffle and béarnaise sauce, and Ian will have the Agnolotti alla Panna. As for wine, what would you recommend?"

Chloe glanced at Ian and back to me, a bit nervous, not entirely sure how to react. I was ordering for Ian as if he were a child. Chloe seemed to be a genuinely good person, and if I had witnessed someone like me treating an Opa this way, I'd probably want to speak up too. I also realized that night that I really sucked at being a bitch. This whole act was hurting me as much as it was Ian, yet I pressed on.

"Well, with beef, you can't beat a good Cab Sav."

"Cab Sav?" I replied, revealing my lack of wine knowledge. I was more of a beer and whiskey snob, thanks to my dad. Wine wasn't really my thing, and I was clueless about the different styles.

"Cabernet Sauvignon," Chloe explained. "We have a 7-year-old Château Cos d’Estournel that would pair nicely."

I crossed my legs and placed my hands in my lap, trying my best to exude the air of a sophisticated junior leaguer, which I most definitely was not.

"That sounds lovely," I replied, feigning refined good taste. "We'll take a bottle."

Chloe's eyes widened, and I could see her mentally calculating the cost of our dinner. She then looked down at Ian. "Ian, is there anything you would like to add or change?"

Ian gazed at both of us, a hint of anger flickering across his expression. Then he flashed a smile at Chloe. "No, this sounds perfect. I can't wait to see what the chef creates for us."

Chloe seemed relieved, willing to stand up for my guy, but clearly not wanting to be caught in the middle of a lovers' spat. Note to self: call the restaurant tomorrow to profusely apologize to her for my dreadful behavior.

"Great, I'll put in your order and bring out your wine," she said and then quickly walked away.

As I watched her stride off, I contemplated what to say to make amends when I heard Ian clear his throat. I glanced down at him. "Do you order for all your dates?" he asked, irritation in his voice.

"Only for the ones who can't reach the seats of their chairs. I hope you brought your wallet," I retorted, my tone ice-cold.

With that, I decided to put an end to my little charade. I hated playing these games, being a petulant child trying to hurt him. I stopped pretending and took a deep breath, realizing I'd already humiliated Ian enough. It was time for honesty.