We entered the Arclight lobby. Vintage décor, classic movie posters on the walls.
"Let me buy the tickets," I said, walking toward the box office.
"We can split—" Sophie began.
"I've got it." I handed my card to the clerk before she could protest. "Two for The 400 Blows, please."
[SMOOTH MOVE] [You paid without making a show of it] [Basic but effective gentlemanly action]
Sophie didn't insist. She just teased. "Thank you."
"You're welcome."
We bought popcorn to share—one large tub.
"Want to share?" she asked.
"Sure."
[SMALL DETAIL: Shared popcorn] [Creates casual intimacy] [Hands will occasionally touch] [Well played]
We entered the screening room. Theater-style seats, red velvet, a large screen.
The place was half full. We found seats in the center, optimal position.
We sat down, the popcorn tub between us on the shared armrest.
"I've never seen Truffaut on the big screen," I said.
"Have you seen his films before?"
"Some. I read about him after you mentioned his name."
Sophie looked at me with an expression I couldn't fully decipher.
"You researched Truffaut?"
"I wanted to be able to talk with you about him."
She smiled, wider this time. "That's… really sweet."
[+10 points] [She appreciates the effort]
The lights dimmed. The film began.
The 400 Blows (Les Quatre Cents Coups). Black and white. 1959.
The story of Antoine Doinel, a twelve-year-old boy in Paris, misunderstood by parents and teachers, searching for freedom in a society that doesn't understand him.
For the first thirty minutes, we were both absorbed in the screen.
The film was beautiful but heartbreaking. The boy lied, stole, ran away, always searching for something more.
Then, around forty minutes in, I noticed something.
Our hands were both on the central armrest, near the popcorn tub.
Not touching. But close. Very close.
I could feel the warmth of her hand centimeters from mine.
[WINDOW OF OPPORTUNITY] [But…] [NOT YET] [Too soon] [Wait for a clear signal]
I breathed and kept my hand where it was.
Forty-five minutes into the film, there was a particularly sad scene. Antoine being questioned by a psychologist at the reform school.
Sophie leaned slightly toward me to whisper:
"This kid breaks my heart."
Her shoulder brushed mine.
And she didn't pull away.
[SIGNAL DETECTED] [She initiated physical contact] [Maintain position] [DO NOT pull away]
I stayed still, letting our shoulders remain lightly touching.
Sophie didn't move either.
We stayed that way for the rest of the movie. Shoulders touching. Sharing space. Sharing the moment.
It wasn't much. But it was something.
And I could feel the electricity of that simple contact.
The movie ended with the famous scene of Antoine running toward the sea, escaping the reform school, searching for freedom. The image freezes on his face looking into the camera.
The lights slowly came on.
Sophie discreetly wiped tears from her eyes.
"God," she said softly. "That movie always destroys me emotionally."
"Had you seen it before?"
"Twice. But never in a theater. It's different on the big screen." She stretched slightly. "Thank you for coming with me. I know existential French cinema isn't for everyone."
"I enjoyed it. Really." And it was true. "The way it portrayed childhood, loneliness, the search for freedom… it was beautiful and sad at the same time."
Sophie looked at me with an expression I hadn't seen before.
"Most guys would've said 'it was fine' and that's it."
"Is that bad?"
"No." She smiled. "It's refreshing to have someone who really… connects with these things."
[+15 points] [Deep emotional connection] [She values your authenticity]
We left the theater. It was 9:15 p.m.
This was my critical moment.
The date could end here—"Thanks, see you"—and technically I would've completed it. But it would be a failure.
Or I could extend it.
The guide had been clear: "You MUST extend beyond the movie."
I took a deep breath.
"Hey," I said casually as we walked toward the exit, "I don't know about you, but I'm hungry. Want to grab dinner?"
Sophie stopped, surprise and pleasure on her face.
"Yeah? Aren't you tired?"
"Not at all. Unless you are…"
"No, no." She smiled wider. "I'd love to. Do you know a place nearby?"
"There's an Italian bistro a couple of blocks away. It looks good."
"Perfect."
[CRITICAL SUCCESS] [Date extended] [Additional time secured] [Now comes the important part]
We walked side by side down the street lit by vintage lampposts.
Downtown was quiet on a Sunday night. A few couples walking. Shops with warm lights. Cool October air.
"So," Sophie said as we walked, "what did you think of the movie? Honestly."
"Honestly… it was sad. But beautiful. The way Truffaut showed childhood, injustice, the child's loneliness…" I searched for the right words. "It felt very real. Very human."
Sophie looked at me with an expression that was hard to read.
"What?" I asked.
"Nothing. It's just that… most people find it 'depressing' or 'slow.' Not many really grasp the… humanity of it."
"I guess I connected with Antoine. I understand what it's like to feel out of place."
"Yeah?"
I nodded. "My whole life I've been the nerd, the weird one, the one who doesn't fit in. So seeing that kid desperately searching for a place to belong…" I stopped, realizing I was being too vulnerable.
But Sophie didn't laugh. She didn't change the subject.
"Me too," she said softly. "In Paris, I was always 'the weird girl who reads philosophy.' Here… it's different. But sometimes I still feel out of place."
Our eyes met.
[EMOTIONAL CONNECTION MOMENT] [Mutual vulnerability] [Bond strengthening]
We kept walking.
And then it happened.
Our hands, swinging naturally as we walked, brushed.
Once.
Twice.
On the third brush, I gathered all my courage.
I didn't do it dramatically. I didn't grab tightly.
I simply… gently intertwined my fingers with hers.
Giving her the full option to pull away if she wanted.
My heart was pounding so hard I was sure she could hear it.
For a second, nothing happened.
Then I felt her fingers close around mine.
Soft. Warm. Accepting.
[!!!PHYSICAL CONTACT ESCALATED!!!] [You took her hand] [She ACCEPTED] [This is MAJOR progress] [+25 points]
We kept walking, hands intertwined, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
No one said anything about it. There was no need.
It just… was.
The Italian restaurant was small and cozy. Dim lights, candles on the tables, the scent of garlic and basil in the air.
"Table for two," the host said.
We sat near the window. A small, intimate table.
"This place is cute," Sophie said, looking around.
"I hope the food's as good as it looks."
We ordered. I got pasta. She ordered vegetarian risotto.
"You're vegetarian?" I asked.
"Yes, for three years now."
I mentally thanked the System for having given me that information in the analysis. I hadn't suggested a steakhouse.
The conversation flowed naturally as we waited for the food.
We talked about everything—
Her memories of growing up in Paris. The cafés she used to frequent. The Eiffel Tower she'd seen a thousand times but never stopped being impressed by.
My life in the suburbs. Loud Italian family. Grandparents who spoke half English, half Italian.
Why we both chose Law. The hopes and doubts we had about the future.