I Submitted My Name For A "Soulmate Sketch" As A Joke. Now I Can't Look My Coworker In The Eye.

Okay. I need to tell someone this story because I am genuinely losing my mind, and the girls in the group chat are absolutely no help because they will not stop laughing.

It started last month. It was a slow Friday afternoon and our group chat was on fire — you know those days where everyone's bored at work and the messages won't stop? Someone dropped a link to this psychic artist website. Apparently there's a woman who can sketch your soulmate's face based on some kind of psychic reading. You just submit your name and birthdate.

We all thought it was hilarious. Like, obviously. So we all did it — me, Britt, Tanya, and Meg. We were placing bets on whose sketch would look like their ex. It was supposed to be a joke. A fun little Friday distraction.

The next morning I woke up to the email. I opened the sketch while still half-asleep, expecting a generic pretty-boy face. But the man in the drawing had this very specific look — square jaw, slightly crooked nose, short hair, and these deep-set eyes with thick eyebrows. My stomach dropped.

(If you're already curious and just want the link, this is the page we all used. But honestly, keep reading — it gets so much worse.)

Because I knew that face. I see that face every single Monday in our 9 AM standup. That face belongs to Dave. From HR. Dave from HR, who always smells like cedar and fresh laundry. Dave from HR, who once fixed the printer for me and said, "I'd fix anything for you," and I thought about it for three days straight.

I screenshot the sketch and sent it to the group chat with zero context. Britt replied in four seconds: "ISN'T THAT DAVE??" Tanya sent seventeen laughing emojis. Meg said, "Girl, the universe is literally filing an HR complaint on your behalf."

I tried to play it cool at work the following Monday. I really did. But every time Dave walked past my desk, I could feel my face going red. He asked me if I was okay on Tuesday. I said I was "fighting a cold." I was fighting for my life.

Then — and I genuinely cannot make this up — last Thursday, Dave walked over to my desk at the end of the day and asked if I wanted to grab drinks sometime. Casual. Easy. Like he'd been thinking about it for a while. I said yes before my brain caught up to my mouth.

We went out Friday. He's even better up close. He's funny. He's kind. He asked me actual questions and remembered the answers. And the whole time, all I could think was: a psychic artist on the internet told me this was going to happen.

I still don't know what to make of it all. But if you want to see for yourself, this is the artist's page — her name is Tara Lunar. Don't blame me for what happens after.

The girls are already obsessed. Britt's sketch looked like her yoga instructor and she's been "accidentally" going to extra classes. Tanya won't show anyone hers, which means it's someone we know. This whole thing feels like a crazy workplace rom-com and I'm living in it.

Honestly? I hope your sketch is someone you already know. It makes the whole thing 10x more chaotic.