Viral Dreams
1484 Words
Morning light spilled through the thin curtains, painting the room in shades of soft gold and dust. The little apartment always looked calmer in daylight — the peeling paint didn’t seem so bad, and the cracked tiles glowed faintly as if pretending to belong to somewhere better.
Ava woke to the quiet hum of the city outside — buses, horns, and the smell of freshly baked bread from the shop down the street. Chloe was already up, sitting cross-legged on her bed with her hair tied up in a messy bun, scrolling through her phone.
“You’re awake,” Chloe said, grinning. “Guess who just hit fifteen thousand followers overnight?”
Ava blinked sleepily. “Me?”
“You.” Chloe tossed her the phone. Ava caught it, rubbing her eyes, then froze when she saw the number. Fifteen thousand. Her latest video — the one where she recreated an old arcade challenge using free mobile games — had blown up overnight. Comments filled the screen:
> ‘She’s so real for this.’
‘Girl’s got skill and personality.’
‘This is the type of content I signed up for!’
Ava felt warmth spread through her chest. She’d never been popular. Not at the orphanage, not with the Parkers. But here, strangers saw her — and liked her.
Chloe flopped back onto her bed, smirking. “Told you you’d go viral again. You’ve got that thing, Ava.”
“What thing?”
“That quiet confidence,” Chloe said. “You don’t try too hard. You’re just… you.”
Ava smiled shyly. “That’s the nicest way anyone’s ever described me.”
“Well, get used to it, superstar. You’re basically Westbridge’s next big thing.”
Ava laughed, but inside she felt something stirring — hope, maybe. Or belonging.
---
Their days fell into a rhythm. Morning shifts at the restaurant. Evening walks home through neon-lit streets. Nights spent editing clips and filming little moments of laughter, spilled drinks, and pixelated victories.
Ava’s cracked phone camera wasn’t the best, but her smile — soft, genuine, a little shy — carried something the algorithm couldn’t ignore. Her followers doubled, then tripled.
One morning, when she checked her email, she saw a message from a small gaming accessories company.
Subject: PR Collaboration with VeeAva
Her heart stopped. She clicked it open with trembling hands.
They wanted to send her products for free.
Headphones. A gaming mouse. A controller.
“Chloe!” Ava burst out, waving her phone. “They want to send me stuff — like actual things. To keep!”
Chloe was halfway through her cereal, spoon in midair. “Wait, what? Free stuff? Real, physical free stuff?”
Ava nodded, barely able to breathe.
“Girl, that’s huge!” Chloe squealed, running over to hug her. “You’re getting PR packages now? You’ve officially made it!”
Ava laughed into Chloe’s shoulder, still dazed. “I didn’t even know people did that.”
“They do, babe. Influencers get free stuff all the time. You’re in that world now.”
It didn’t feel real. For so long, her world had been small — four walls, cold meals, and fear of saying the wrong thing. But now, her name, her face, was on the internet for thousands to see.
---
The first package arrived two days later — a box wrapped in bright red tape with her online alias scrawled across the top: VeeAva.
Chloe insisted on filming the unboxing. “You’ve gotta show your followers! It’s content.”
“I don’t even know what to say,” Ava said, sitting cross-legged on their floor.
“Just be you,” Chloe replied, adjusting the angle. “That’s what they love.”
Ava took a deep breath, smiled at the camera, and began to speak.
“Hey everyone, it’s Ava — um, VeeAva,” she said, laughing nervously. “This is crazy, but I just got my first PR box. I honestly can’t believe people even watch my stuff, let alone send me things. Thank you so much for being here with me.”
Her hands shook as she opened the box. Inside was a sleek white headset, a mouse that glowed in soft rainbow colors, and a handwritten note:
> Keep creating. The world needs more of your kind of light.
Ava’s throat tightened. For the first time in a long time, she felt… seen.
---
Her growth didn’t explode overnight like the big creators — it was slower, steadier, like a fire that refused to go out. She posted gaming clips, funny skits with Chloe, small vlogs about working at the restaurant.
Her audience loved her authenticity — the fact that she filmed in a cramped room, that she sometimes wore the same hoodie in three videos, that she smiled like someone who still couldn’t believe people cared.
Sometimes, late at night, when Chloe had fallen asleep, Ava would scroll through the comments and whisper them aloud like a prayer.
> “You’re my comfort creator.”
“I wish I had your courage.”
“You’re proof it gets better.”
She didn’t know why, but those words healed something in her.
And yet, there were moments — quiet, in-between moments — when she wondered if it could all vanish as quickly as it came.
---
One evening, after their shift, Ava and Chloe walked home through the rain. They shared a single umbrella, close enough that their arms brushed with each step. The air smelled like wet concrete and freedom.
“You’re really making it,” Chloe said softly.
Ava smiled. “We’re making it.”
Chloe laughed. “You’re the one with the fanbase, VeeAva.”
“But you were the one who believed in me first.”
Chloe looked at her then — really looked. Her lashes were wet, her lips parted slightly as if she wanted to say something but didn’t.
“You’re gonna go far,” Chloe whispered. “Just… promise me something.”
“What?”
“When you do, don’t forget me.”
Ava stopped walking. The umbrella tilted, rain dotting their shoulders. She touched Chloe’s hand, gently. “Never.”
Their eyes met. For a heartbeat, the world was quiet except for the rain. Then Chloe smiled — small and unsure — and they kept walking.
---
By the end of the month, Ava had over fifty thousand followers.
People began recognizing her at the restaurant. Customers would whisper, “Is that the girl from GameTok?” when she brought their orders. Her manager teased her for being famous now, but still made her clean tables.
Chloe was her biggest cheerleader, always suggesting ideas, filming skits, laughing behind the camera.
Their videos together became fan favorites — #VeeAndChloe trended locally for a week. People shipped them, joked about their chemistry, called them “the internet’s comfort duo.”
Ava laughed it off, but every time someone commented “They’d be so cute together,” her stomach fluttered.
One night, after another late edit session, Chloe fell asleep beside her, head resting on Ava’s shoulder. The soft rhythm of her breathing filled the room. Ava turned slightly, brushing a strand of hair from her face.
She didn’t know what to call what they had. Friendship? Love? Something in between?
All she knew was that for the first time since she was ten years old, she wasn’t afraid to exist.
She had a home — even if it was just a small room with creaky floors and two mismatched beds.
She had warmth — even if it came from a girl who laughed too loudly and believed too fiercely.
And she had dreams — pixelated, fragile, but finally her own.
---
Weeks passed. More packages arrived — some from small gaming brands, others from fan-made shops. Ava always filmed unboxings, thanking each company with quiet sincerity.
She learned to edit better, to balance work and content, to smile into the lens without faking it.
But some nights, when the rain hit the window and she couldn’t sleep, her mind drifted back to the Parkers. To the mansion with its perfect garden, to Nathan’s gaming console — the first one she’d ever touched. To the way his mother had smiled while teaching her how to bake cookies she wasn’t allowed to eat.
The past still stung, but it no longer defined her.
She was building something new.
And as she watched her follower count tick to 100,000, Ava whispered to herself the same words she had the night she ran away:
“I’ll never need anyone again.”
But deep down, in the quiet place where her heart beat too fast whenever Chloe smiled — she knew that wasn’t true.
Because sometimes, to heal, you didn’t need the world.
You just needed someone who found you sleeping under a streetlight and decided you were worth waking up.
- Writer
