He was six foot, four and a half inches, the guy who replied to the post. Well, 1,93 metres. The measurement round his chest was forty-five inches. Well, 114 centimetres.

In his photo, he stood next to a rock looking as hard and as strong as granite himself. He wore a bro T-shirt and his arm muscles bulged.

“Mmmmm!” said Thandeka. “I think we have a winner here!”

It was difficult to see his face since it was in shadow. But it looked fine and normal enough, from what Ophelia and Thandeka could see.

“Hey, I don’t need handsome. I need big!” said Ophelia. “Anything more than that is a bonus.”

Mpho Joseph Katse, his name was. But his friends all called him, ‘The Terminator’. Ophelia phoned the cell number he had provided. A booming voice answered.

“Yeah? Joe here!”

“It’s Ophelia. From the dating site …”

“Cool!”

Within minutes, Mpho had arranged to meet her that Saturday night, at a nearby sports bar. Ophelia didn’t like sports bars much. But she didn’t want to argue. She wasn’t going to do anything to spoil this date!

“And anyway,” said Thandeka, “a sports bar is a good place. Plenty of people around – just in case this Mpho is a psychopath or something.”

By Saturday morning, Ophelia was in a state – of panic, of nerves, of excitement, of hope.

“How am I going to make it till seven tonight without going crazy?” she asked Thandeka. But Thandeka’s mother had the perfect answer.

“You always wanted to learn how to make orange soufflés, Ophelia. Let me teach you how. That will take your mind off things.”

So Ophelia joined Mrs Pitlo in the kitchen and slowly, slowly, she calmed down.

“The key to perfect soufflés is gentleness,” said Mrs Pitlo as she helped Ophelia separate four eggs. “Stir gently, Ophelia. Every movement must be soft and light … otherwise the mixture won’t rise in the oven. Okay, now fold in the egg whites … gently does it.”

It was a challenge for Ophelia with her large hands, with her strong arms. But at last she had the mixture safely poured back into the orange skins, ready for the oven. She slid the baking tray onto the bottom rack. Slowly and carefully. Slowly and carefully she closed the oven door.

“And always remember, Ophelia,” Mrs Pitlo continued. “Never, never open the door until they are finished cooking. These soufflés are always looking for the slightest reason to collapse back into the orange skins – like tortoises going back into their shells. And then they taste awful!”

Ophelia sat at the kitchen table, peering through the glass of the oven door. And yes, the soufflés were rising beautifully above the tops of the orange skins. Higher and higher, slowly turning golden brown.

Ophelia smiled, proud that she had managed to be so gentle. Just ten more minutes, and they would be ready.

She picked up a dirty spoon and walked across to the sink.

“Oh no! What are you doing?” said Mrs Pitlo. “You should have tiptoed, Ophelia. You can’t be stomping around like an elephant while they are baking!”

And there through the glass door was the saddest sight. All of the soufflés were sinking down, down, down. Retracting back into the orange skins – like frightened tortoises hiding back inside their shells.

Ophelia felt hopeless, like some clumsy, oversized giant trying to fit into a too-small, normal world.

***

Tell us what you think: Will her failure in the kitchen affect Ophelia’s date tonight with Mpho?