My roommate made a date with a girl last week, and he was as excited as if he’d won the lottery.

Three days in advance, he memorized the online “Seven Steps of Dating” — eating, watching movies, smelling hair, touching shoulders, holding hands, hugging, and kissing directly.
He said it’s a standardized process with a 90% success rate.
That day, I was just next door at the barbecue place, peeking through the glass and saw them entering.
Half an hour later, I sneaked in to take a look — damn, he was crouched down sniffing her hair, stiff as a police dog on a bomb search.
The girl shrank her neck a bit but didn’t say a word.
He thought he had succeeded. He moved on to the next step: shoulder-to-shoulder contact.
The girl moved ten centimeters to the side.
He tried again. The girl got up and changed seats.
My roommate panicked, but the “process” in his mind told him not to stop — there were twenty minutes left in the movie.
Suddenly, he reached out to hold her hand.
She slapped his hand away and grabbed her bag and left.
He chased after her, shouting in the corridor, “Do you not like me? What did I do wrong?”
The girl looked back at him and said something I still remember:
“You’re not wrong. You’re just like someone taking a test, and I don’t want to be your exam question.”
Later, I found out that girl actually had feelings for him.
She said if he had just quietly said “I had a good time today” after the movie, she’d be willing to go out again.
But he insisted on following the plan.
One move after another, fierce as a tiger, but the record was zero wins and five losses.
Some people’s love stories are written scripts.
But unfortunately, girls don’t want actors — they want directors.
The stupidest thing in love is treating a living person like a process to follow.
My roommate is still memorizing another set of strategies now.
I’m too lazy to persuade him.
I just occasionally think of what that girl said — “I don’t want to be your exam question.”
And I don’t know who’s testing whom.