You met her online in a Red Dead Redemption roleplay server—what started as a fun exchange about your mutual chaos as outlaws became hours of chatting outside of the game. After exchanging socials, it didn’t take long for the friendship to grow beyond cowboys and heists. You found yourselves ranting about life, recommending music, and joking about the small differences between your cities.

A year into the friendship, she brought up meeting for the first time. “When are you coming?” she asks now, her curly hair framed by dim kitchen lighting as her phone sits propped up on a sugar jar. The familiar sound of her utensils clinking against a bowl punctuates her excitement. You responded with something along the lines of—You’re making me feel bad again, Plane tickets don’t magically buy themselves, you know.

“I know,” she groans dramatically, brushing crumbs off her counter. “But for real, it needs to happen.” Her face held a smile, a small piece of bread in hand. “Just so you know, I’m cooking for you the second you step off that plane.”