chance meeting,
love lasting.
on a seemingly normal night, a famous creator raids a smaller streamer and sets off a chain of events that lead him to his dream girl.
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The call almost went straight to voicemail, answered at the last possible second.
"Why are you calling so early?"
"Good morning to you too, Mother."
"Yeah, because good mornings start at eight on a Saturday," my mom snorted. "What do you want, Nalani?"
"I wanted to ask you something," I muttered.
"Okay, no promises I will provide a sensible answer in my current state," she yawned.
"You just woke up, Mom. You're not drunk."
"Same thing."
I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose. "Anyway, you remember what I told you a few months ago? About Rye?"
"That he's the wind beneath your wings? Your true love? Your—"
"Mom, remind me to never call you on a Saturday morning again," I interrupted, knowing where she was headed.
"I'm teasing, sweetie. Yes, I remember what you said." Her parental tone returned, mixed with quiet concern.
"Well, scratch that."
She was silent for all of two seconds before cheering at the top of her lungs. "Finally! I never liked that boy, or his little girlfriend—"
"I still live with them, so dial it back, would you?"
Her cheering fizzled out, replaced by sheepish giggles. "Sorry. I'm just proud of you. How did you figure it out?"
"I don't know. Certain things annoy me now, things I used to find adorable." Interactions from the past few days came to mind. They were small, hardly anything, but they stuck with me. They bothered me.
"Congrats, honey. I really hope the next guy you fall head over heels for actually cares about you."
"He does," I said without thinking. My hand flew over my mouth, but it did no good.
"What did you say?"
"Nothing, Mama. I'll let you go back to sleep. See you tomorrow."
She made a disapproving noise, but said, "Okay. See you tomorrow, hon."
Setting my phone on the nightstand, I crossed the room to my closet. I gravitated toward my favorite weekend shirt — an old tie-dye shirt from our high school senior sunrise.
But instead of choosing comfort and familiarity, I grabbed a birthday gift from two years ago.
When I looked in the mirror, I saw Brook. Of course, the green halter top was from her. Wearing white, high-waisted shorts and sandals, it felt like she dressed me herself.
Part of me wanted to change immediately, return to the comfort of sweatpants, a faded t-shirt, and a hoodie. Clay's hoodie. The other part believed for the first time in years that I looked pretty.
