Chapter Three
1411 Words
Chapter Three
Sleeveless Hearts
The city felt louder that morning. Not just in the noise of the trains or the rustle of crowds, but in the way my heartbeat echoed against the insides of my ears. I had arrived early. Too early.
I kept checking my phone. Then the station entrance. Then the phone again. I wasn’t even reading the time anymore, just using the screen as something to look at besides the world.
What if she didn’t like me in person?
What if I wasn’t enough?
I shifted uncomfortably on the bench. My jeans were plain and slightly wrinkled, my sneakers already gathering dust from the morning rush. I wore a loose, faded T-shirt under a secondhand hoodie that I had pulled on just to feel like I was hiding. Even then, I still felt exposed.
In-game, I was respected. Feared, even.
But out here, I was just Sienna. Twenty-three. Nervous. Quiet. Overthinking everything down to the way I sat.
Then I saw her.
She didn’t just walk—she floated. At least, that’s how it felt. Ellie moved with a kind of graceful confidence that made the world seem like it bent a little to make room for her.
She wore a sleeveless cream top tucked into tailored beige pants that framed her figure effortlessly. A simple gold chain shimmered at her neck. Her long hair was tied loosely to the side, and her smile—
God, her smile.
It was exactly how I remembered it from the game icon. The one she always used when teasing me: 😏
I stood up too quickly, my hoodie sliding off one shoulder. I panicked and tried to pull it back, then immediately regretted it. My hands felt awkward. My mouth was dry. Why did it suddenly feel impossible to act normal?
Ellie spotted me and raised her hand, waving like she’d just seen an old friend, not someone she was meeting for the first time. No hesitation. No awkwardness. Just warmth.
“Winter?” she called out with a grin. “Or should I say Sienna?”
Her voice was exactly how I imagined it—light, teasing, laced with kindness.
“Hi,” I managed, my voice coming out smaller than I wanted.
She tilted her head, stepping closer. “You’re taller than I thought.”
I shrugged, looking down. “Most people say that.”
“I like it,” she said simply, and just like that, the pressure in my chest loosened.
We stood there for a second, letting silence settle—not awkward, just soft.
Then Ellie stepped forward and held up a takeaway cup.
“Coffee for the girl with cold hands and a warm heart,” she said, quoting something I had told her during one of our late-night chats.
I laughed—an actual laugh, not the type I faked at work.
“I wasn’t sure if you'd like sweet or bitter,” she added, “so I got one of each. You can choose.”
“I’ll take bitter,” I said.
Ellie raised an eyebrow. “I knew it. Strategist energy.”
We walked side by side through the station exit, the city humming around us. She chatted effortlessly, slipping in jokes and stories like we’d done this a hundred times before. I listened, half in awe, half terrified I’d say something wrong.
And still, she never made me feel small.
We found a quiet café nearby—one with plants by the windows and soft jazz playing low. It was the kind of place Ellie seemed to belong in, with its elegance and charm. I, on the other hand, felt like a misplaced NPC.
She took the corner seat, stretching her arms across the backrest like she owned the place. Her sleeveless top caught the light, and I couldn’t help but notice how naturally stylish she looked without even trying.
Meanwhile, I kept tugging at my sleeves, wishing I had worn something—anything—nicer.
Ellie noticed.
“Hey,” she said gently, reaching across the table to tap my hand, “you’re fine. Really. You’re beautiful.”
I nearly choked on my coffee. “I… no. I mean—thank you. But I’m not.”
“Says who?” she asked, tilting her head.
I couldn’t answer.
Because honestly? No one had ever called me that before. Not seriously.
She leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. “You look exactly like I pictured. Maybe even better.”
I stared at the table. The wood grains suddenly looked fascinating.
Ellie chuckled softly. “Okay, okay, I’ll stop flattering you. For now.”
There was a pause.
Then, as if we had slipped back into the rhythm of the game, the conversation flowed.
We talked about our favorite in-game moments. That ridiculous raid where she got lost in the desert biome for thirty minutes. The time I stayed up all night coordinating three alliances in a war. We laughed over inside jokes, voice memos we’d sent each other, the squirrel army Ellie once tried to form.
“I still think I could’ve tamed them if the game allowed,” she insisted.
“You named one of them Baste.”
“He was my son, Sienna. My virtual squirrel son.”
We couldn’t stop giggling after that.
Lunch came and went. Ellie insisted on paying, saying, “You’ll treat me next time—when you’re rich and working from home.”
I blushed. “You think there’ll be a next time?”
She looked at me like the question itself was ridiculous. “Of course. Unless you didn’t have a good time.”
“I did,” I said honestly. “More than I expected.”
“Then it's settled,” she grinned. “We’ll do this again.”
We walked out into the late afternoon sun, a golden warmth softening the harsh edges of the city. I felt lighter somehow. Like I was shedding a version of myself I had carried for too long.
Ellie slipped on her sunglasses, still smiling.
“I have a question,” she said suddenly. “And I want you to be honest.”
“Okay.”
“If I asked to hold your hand right now… would you let me?”
I froze. My heart did something strange—like it stumbled, then caught itself.
“I…” I looked down at my hands. “I’ve never… done that.”
“That's okay,” she said gently. “You don’t have to. I just thought I'd ask.”
And maybe it was the way she said it—without pressure, without expectation—or maybe it was the way the breeze curled around us like it, too, was waiting.
But I nodded.
Slowly, she reached out.
Her fingers were warm against mine. Delicate, but secure. No rush. No force.
And just like in-game, she didn’t lead loudly. She simply stood beside me.
We walked like that for a while, blending into the crowd but existing in our own quiet world.
“I used to think people like you didn’t exist,” I admitted softly.
“People like me?”
“Kind. Supportive. Patient.” I paused. “You see things others overlook.”
She squeezed my hand. “That’s funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”
A beat passed.
Then she added, “Except I’d also include 'beautiful' and 'surprisingly funny when comfortable.'”
“You're just trying to make me blush.”
“Is it working?”
“Very much.”
She laughed, the sound like music to my ears.
We reached the station again, and I knew the moment was ending. Time, as always, felt unfair. But for once, I didn’t feel regretful. I felt… full.
Before we parted, Ellie took a step closer. Her perfume was soft—floral and clean.
“I had a good day,” she said.
“Me too.”
“Do you still think this”—she gestured between us—“is just a game thing?”
I shook my head. “No. Not anymore.”
She smiled, and I swear the whole world slowed down.
“Good. Because I was never playing to win. I just wanted to find something real.”
And maybe, just maybe, we had.
Right there—between digital avatars and quiet hearts, sleeveless elegance and awkward hoodies—
Something real had begun.
- Writer
