"Cupid’s Confused Assistant"

Dear Readers,

It’s the end of January, and the world seems to have already dipped itself into a vat of pink and red glitter. Valentine’s Day is just around the corner, and while most people are busy getting ready for their big romantic gestures, I, Jacob, am bracing myself for yet another February 14th sans Valentine. And trust me, that’s not even the funniest part of the story.

Let me set the stage: I’m sitting in my favorite coffee shop, alone in a corner with my MacBook preparing another horror story & of course, nursing a latte that’s just shy of lukewarm, when a plop on the table startles me. I look up, and there he is Cupid. Yes, the chubby cherub himself, with a bow slung across his shoulder, quiver brimming with heart-tipped arrows, and a look of complete exasperation.

"Jacob," he says, pointing a stubby finger at me, "I need help."

I blink. "Help? From me? Shouldn’t you be out… you know… shooting arrows and making people fall in love?"

Cupid flops into the chair across from me, wings drooping. "Do you know how stressful Valentine’s season is? Everyone’s expectations are through the roof! It’s exhausting. And I’ve got a backlog of requests to sort through. I need an assistant."

Before I can protest, and tell him how ugly I'm, and prefer to be alone. He snaps his fingers, and suddenly, I’m wearing a toga and holding a mini bow of my own. "You’ll be perfect," he says with a grin. "You’ve got the charm, the wit, and most importantly, no distractions… like a Valentine."

Ouch. Low blow, Cupid.

"Fine," I sigh, standing up and adjusting my toga. "But don’t blame me if I’m terrible at this."

Fast forward a few hours, and we’re soaring above the city. Cupid’s explaining the art of matchmaking while I try not to look down. "It’s simple," he says. "You find two people with compatible vibes, aim, and shoot. Easy peasy."

"Easy for you," I mutter, squinting at the couple below. A woman with a dog is walking past a man reading on a bench. Perfect candidates, right? I pull back the string and let the arrow fly.

It misses. Completely. Instead of hitting the man, the arrow ricochets off a lamppost and lands on the dog’s owner. She suddenly beams at the dog, scoops it up, and declares, "You’re my soulmate!"

Cupid facepalms. "Jacob!"

The day goes on like this. I’m terrible at aim, causing all sorts of unintended chaos. A barista falls in love with their espresso machine. A jogger develops a sudden romantic obsession with their fitness tracker. At one point, Cupid mutters something about filing for early retirement.

But then, something unexpected happens. As we’re hovering above the park, I see a woman sitting on a bench, sketching quietly. She looks up, and for a moment, our eyes meet. She smiles. And in that split second, I feel something I can’t quite explain.

Cupid nudges me. "Go ahead," he says, handing me an arrow. "Shoot your shot."

I hesitate. "But what if I mess it up again?"

"Sometimes," Cupid says, "you just have to trust your instincts."

So I draw the bow, take a deep breath, and release the arrow. It flies straight and true, landing softly in her chest. She glances around, spots me in the sky, and waves.

Cupid grins. "Not bad for your first day."

As February approaches, maybe just maybe this Valentine’s Day won’t be so lonely after all.

Being Lonely is better…

Hehe Hehe Cupid's Job is more stressful than my life.

I better stick to writing…

Jacob M