“Starting now,” I confirm, and proceed to show her exactly what she’s been missing.
Greg rustles his approval from the windowsill, and somewhere in the back of my mind, I think about how this would make a terrible game narrative—too neat, too convenient, too happily-ever-after.
But maybe, that’s okay. Maybe real life doesn’t need plot twists and dramatic endings.
Maybe sometimes, the best stories are the ones where two people choose each other, flaws and all, and build something worth keeping.
Even if it takes a few rewrites to get there.
40
ETHAN
My room looks like a bomb has exploded. Three monitors glow with different versions of my portfolio, cables snake across my desk like digital ivy, and I’ve consumed enough energy drinks to power a small city. The upload deadline for final projects is in six hours, and I’ve checked the submission portal approximately forty-seven times to make sure Fault Line uploaded correctly.
“Still paranoid?” Troy pokes his head in, finding me hunched over my laptop.
“The file size seems off,” I mutter, refreshing the submission page again. “What if it corrupted during upload? What if the choice mechanism doesn’t trigger properly? What if?—”
“What if you need to chill?” He tosses me a water bottle. “It’s uploaded. I watched you do it. Twice.”
“Three times,” I correct. “I deleted and re-uploaded to be sure.”
Troy rolls his eyes. “You’re worse than Freddie during his dissertation. At least he didn’t?—”
My phone rings, the sound cutting through the room like a siren. Professor Long’s name flashes on the screen.
My blood turns to ice.
“Why is he calling?” I stare at the phone like it’s a live grenade. “The deadline isn’t for six hours. Oh god, what if something’s wrong with my submission? What if the file’s corrupted? What if?—”
“Answer it,” Troy says. “Before you give yourself an aneurysm.”
My hands shake as I swipe to answer. “Professor Long?”
“Ethan?” His voice sounds... different. Not angry or concerned, but almost excited? “I’m glad I caught you. Are you free to talk?”
I glance at Troy, who’s now fully invested in my potential crisis. “Yeah, I can talk. Is everything okay? Did my submission?—”
“Your submission is fine,” he assures me, and I nearly collapse with relief. “More than fine, actually. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Remember when I mentioned my brother works at Nebula Arcade?”
“Yeah?” My voice comes out strangled.
“Well, I may have sent him your beta build. The one with the choice mechanism.” He pauses, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Ethan, he’s been trying to reach me all day. He’s incredibly impressed.”
I sink onto my bed, legs suddenly unable to support me. Troy mouths ‘what’s happening?’ but I can’t form words to respond.
“But I haven’t even—grades aren’t finalized. The showcase is tomorrow. I don’t?—”
“Sometimes exceptional work doesn’t need a grade,” Long says gently. “Your revision after the beta feedback, the way you transformed criticism into innovation... Marcus says it’s some of the most sophisticated early development he’s seen from a student.”
“Marcus?” I repeat dumbly, even though I know perfectly well who Marcus is.
“Marcus. Lead Creative Writer at Nebula. My brother.” There’s pride in his voice now. “He’d very much like to speak with you about opportunities after graduation.”
The room tilts. I grip my phone tighter, sure I’m hallucinating from too much caffeine and too little sleep.
