Bumbling in Love 8: the one where my friend (and Substack writer) played matchmaker!
Since we didn’t match on a dating app...it went down in the DMs.
Bumbling in Love is a series where I recap every date I’ve been on since June 2024, which is when I decided to find my mate through dating apps, and hopefully figure out what the hell love means through this process.
If you’re new here - welcome to my blog - I’m touched you’re reading. If you’ve been around, welcome back!
I took a 2-month break from writing about past dates — mostly because I got bored of looking backward — but I will finish this series.
You know what they say: nice guys don’t finish last.
They don’t finish at all.
Good thing I’m an asshole.
I’m kidding. I’m alright, so when I saw someone who seemed alright on Bumble — pretty, into hiking (she conquered the Al Rabi Trail), and matcha — I swiped right and was intrigued enough to look her up on Facebook.
(I’d uninstalled Instagram from my phone instead of deactivating outright.)
Let’s call her Piya.
Turns out, we had three mutual friends from school! One was my childhood friend from age 11 (and my “ex”, though that hardly counts since I didn’t know what a girlfriend was back then).
She makes a cool podcast about community-building in Brooklyn, which you should check out.
Another was a dear friend who writes about pop culture here on Substack.
I asked both of them how they knew her, and the latter to set us up.
I sent Piya a couple of lemons in her Instagram DM’s (as one does).
The plan was to explain the joke right after, but I didn’t realize you only get one shot - so do not miss your chance to blow - before the recipient has to accept your request.
I was mortified and figured she’d assume I was retarded.
Not just retarded…but a full retard.
Thankfully, she accepted my request, and I could explain myself before we set a date at Brass Monkey - my fourth one there.
At this point…they should’ve given me sweat equity!
Nervous sweats: a tale as old as time.
On the topic of sweat…here’s a funny incident from school I haven’t told many.
I’ve had hyperhidrosis – I sweat excessively – since I was a child.
Nervousness can set it off, but most of the time my hands are just randomly clammy.
Other times, they’re drier than a woman pretending she didn’t see the 100th ‘u up?’ text from a thirsty guy.
I don’t know how it works, but I’ve made peace with it.
Back when I was nine and studying at The Kindergarten Starters, the powers that be deemed it necessary we had to hold our desk partners’ hands after the last period to walk back to the buses.
I’m not sure why – we were the oldest kids in school – maybe they thought we’d get steamrolled by a gaggle of well-meaning but idiotic 6-year-olds?
Anyway, unbeknownst to my teacher - but obvious to everybody else – my partner was also my crush.
Physical contact with the adolescent love of my life?
To echo one of my idols, the inimitable tiger-blooded Charlie Sheen:
I savoured the few days I got to hold my crush’s hand, but all good things must (tragically) come to an end.
One brutally humid Dubai afternoon, as I was gleefully walking her back to the bus, out of nowhere…tiny bastard beads of sweat started forming in my right hand.
What happened next still haunts me.
Before I could blink, my crush glanced sideways with a look of sheer disgust and dropped my hand like I was a child predator luring her to my black van with the promise of a lollipop.
She yelled for the teacher, who was — of course (!) way up front — so the whole class knew something was up. She asked to walk with someone else.
That memory is seared into my brain; I never managed to tell her I liked her after that.
She’s married now, with a kid. Sometimes I wonder if that little monkey could’ve been mine.
20th July 2024 – Banter + booze at Brass Monkey, City Walk.
I told you that embarrassing school story because when Piya finally walked into the bar - late, as advertised on her Bumble profile - we hugged, and I immediately started sweating like I was back in fourth grade.
Except this time, it wasn’t my palms!
It started from my head, slowly creeping down the sides of my neck.
It was partly because I found her prettier than her photos, and partly because of first-date nerves.
And I did that stupid thing (fuck, why do I always do this?) where I pointed it out. I shouldn’t have, because she didn’t notice it until I brought it up, which only made me sweat more.
I blamed the weather (in my defence, it was another sweltering Dubai summer).
Once we grabbed drinks and settled down, I cooled off.
Read: stopped sweating like a meth-head on day four of the bender. (Meth? Not even once, kids!)
The nervous sweats reappeared on two subsequent first dates – stay tuned for those blogs.
The date itself felt like two people swapping stories about life, travels, common friends, growing up in Dubai, and what we did to thrive in this expensive city.
Piya told me about a hair topper brand she was launching. I fucking loved the name!
At one point, I asked her how she defined love, and I noticed she looked slightly uncomfortable answering: it was being friends with your partner, being open, being in a safe space.
It sounded nice in theory, I thought to myself. But a month into using dating apps…I was still figuring out what love meant to me.
Does time fly when you’re having fun - or was I just drunk?
A little over an hour in, I suggested we hit the arcade - I knew Piya took dance classes – so I figured it’d be fun to see who’d come out on top in DANCERUSH STARDOM, Konami’s answer to Dance Dance Revolution.
DDR. So good! (Read that in Russell Peters’ high-pitched Asian voice).
…I’m happy to report I ran circles around her thanks to the footwork I’ve built from boxing. Piya, if you’re reading this, let the record show: I smoked you, haha
After having a go racing motorbikes - I think she won that one - we got back to talking at our table.
The ice was broken, but when do you go from lukewarm to love?
It was a fun evening. Piya was lovely. But I didn’t feel a spark, and I reckon she didn’t either.
Of course, sparks on a first date are the dream. But at this early stage in my dating journey, I was still curious to meet more women, to see who else was out there.
Earlier, Piya mentioned it takes her time to open up to people, and she was working on it. I can open up fast, but it still takes quality time before I feel an actual bond, especially in romance.
We said goodbye with a hug. I was supposed to meet the boys for drinks, but it was too late — so I wrapped my Saturday night at a Stick No Bills party instead.
Epilogue: A strategic player in a game I was curiously playing.
In dating, “spinning plates” means seeing multiple people at once, which I’m not a fan of — I’m old-school — I’d rather invest fully in one person than juggle a handful.
But at the same time, this was just one date. I was playing by the don’t put all your eggs in one basket rule.
(Fun fact: the phrase goes back to Don Quixote — long before portfolio managers hijacked it for diversification talk.)
So, I didn’t. I’d optimized my profile enough that lining up dates was easy, which suited me fine, because I was playing the numbers game.
For me, that meant I kept meeting women with intent: being clear about what I was looking for and seeing where it would take me.
Even though I hate texting, I’d still ping Piya now and then about a second date, whilst using Hinge to see who else caught my eye.
Don’t hate the player, hate the game, you say?
Well, I had to play the game…so I could be free of it.
But I’m getting ahead of myself. Piya was the seventh woman I met on the quest to find my mate, and I went on six more dates in 2024.
So, stick around for the next time I Bumble in Love.
As always.
Stay strong, stay sharp, and stay hydrated, my friends.
And remember: since we must die.
Memento amare/remember to love.
— Karan
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the series is back!! woohhh
Your storytelling always pulls me in, Karan. The humor, the honesty, the little moments of humanity—we’ve all had our own “sweaty-palms-at-the-worst-time” memories, but you turn yours into narrative gold. What stays with me is how you blend self-reflection with playfulness, making even the awkward parts feel universal. Thank you for letting us into the journey rather than just the highlight reel. Subscribed to learn more.