About Us: The Truth (Or Something Close To It)
If you’re interested in uncovering the history of Cara and Dustin’s unbreakable bond, it may behoove you to get both sides of the story. Not because either of them are particularly reliable narrators—but because somewhere in the overlap lies the truth. Cara and Dustin met the way people do when the universe gets bored and decides to stir the pot. Set up on a blind date via a mutual friend, the two met in a quiet hole-in-the-wall bar in Brooklyn, on a sleepy Tuesday night. The lighting was bad. The bartender had attitude. Perfect.
Cara’s Version
If you're to believe Cara's retelling of events, she swears it was instant. She walked in, passed the only other couple clinging to their IPA flights at the front, and made her way down the long line of booths. There he was—a tall glass of water with a smirk that said he either knew what he was doing, or was doing a damn good job pretending. He reached out his hand, and - as if from the voice of God - said "I'm Dustin, you must be Cara".
She was done for.
The man had a certain beauty that to this day she felt no longer existed, that could only be admired and studied from old Hollywood pictures. She was floored. Flushed, she debated making her way to the restroom to cool herself down and start anew, for she had just met the love of her life. She was charmed. She was giddy. And for the first time in a while, she felt the comfort of another that allowed her the ability to do what she most dreaded upon meeting a potential partner: she let her guard down. The Uber was called, the plans for a follow up date were made, and the afterglow remained well into the night even after she had brushed her teeth, crawled into bed and prayed to God that this feeling would never end.
Dustin’s version
Now, Dustin’s version of events? Whole different movie.
Due to his crippling anxiety (or as he would call it, "professional overthinking") he chose the booth farthest from the entrance to buy himself time, scope the room, and maybe settle his nerves. Instead, he sat there refreshing her texts like a man clinging to a life raft. Time dragged. His thoughts spiraled. Just as he was about to let the inner demons conquer, there appeared a blonde, blue-eyed angel that banished all darkness away. Was this his guardian angel coming to protect him from his own demise? Nay. She walked in like a punch to the gut. The kind of beautiful that makes cameras feel useless.
He felt his blood move, bringing color back to his face. Then the panic. Because what do you say to someone who looks like that? He locked eyes with her and his brain short-circuited. Nothing came out. She looked at him, clocked the hesitation, and immediately started scanning the bar for a back exit like a hostage scoping a getaway. “Pull it together,” he told himself. “This is it. Don’t blow it.” He stood and introduced himself. A smirk played across her lips—just enough to let him know she hadn’t bolted yet for a reason. And in that split second, somewhere between terror and electricity, they both knew. No grand music. No slow motion. Just that quiet, electric feeling when two people realize they’re no longer strangers.