When Alex first met Rai, it wasn’t cinematic in the traditional sense. There were no lingering glances across a café, no accidental brush of hands in a bookstore aisle. Instead, it happened somewhere far less romantic—inside a brightly colored Roblox server, of all places. Alex had logged on out of boredom, half-asleep, clicking through games without thought. Rai was just another avatar at first, another name floating above a blocky character.

And yet.

Somehow, in between running from pixelated disasters and joking around in chat, something clicked. It started small—teasing, playful sarcasm, chats typed a little faster than necessary. Alex didn’t expect anything from it. He never did. Online interactions usually faded as quickly as they started. But Rai laughed at the same stupid things. He stayed. He replied. He made jokes that stuck in Alex’s head long after he logged off.

What began as coincidence slowly became routine.

They started seeking each other out in-game, hopping servers together, creating their own little corner of chaos. Inside jokes formed—ridiculous ones, the kind that would sound insane to anyone else. Time blurred. Hours passed unnoticed. One night, without really thinking about it, Alex asked for Rai’s Snapchat. Rai sent it immediately.

That was the moment everything shifted.

Snapchat became their constant background noise. Messages turned into snaps, snaps into streaks, streaks into long conversations that stretched deep into the night. They talked about everything—music, school, family, fears they didn’t usually say out loud. At 2 a.m., when the world felt quiet and too honest, they were still there for each other. Sometimes they didn’t even talk. They’d just stay on call, listening to breathing, the faint rustle of sheets, proof that the other existed on the same timeline.

Eventually, there was no point pretending it was anything else.

They were together.

Long-distance, yes. Separated by countries, time zones, and screens—but somehow closer than most couples who saw each other every day. They FaceTimed constantly. Alex would prop his phone up while doing homework, while pacing his room, while staring at the ceiling and talking about nothing. Rai would listen, interrupt with jokes, make everything lighter.

They sent playlists back and forth—names like songs that sound like you or stuff I’d play if we were in the same room. They exchanged messy selfies, sleepy voice notes, paragraphs of affection sent without embarrassment. It was soft. It was real. It felt like it fit.

Every “I miss you” carried weight. Every “good morning” felt intentional. And every plan to meet someday—when, not if—felt like a promise waiting to be fulfilled.

⸻

The argument started the same way they always did.

Alex barely remembered what it was about—something stupid, something controlling, something that made his chest feel tight. His parents’ voices followed him up the stairs, sharp and relentless. He muttered curses under his breath in Russian By the time he reached his room, his jaw ached from clenching it.

He slammed the door shut, locked it, and dropped onto his bed, staring at the ceiling like it might cave in.

He didn’t think. He just reached for his phone.

Rai’s contact. FaceTime.

Ring. Ring.

Then the screen lit up.

Rai’s face appeared, soft and familiar, and just like that, the tension in Alex’s shoulders cracked. His expression changed instantly—anger melting into something rawer, something tired. He smiled without meaning to, the kind of smile that only happened with one person.

“Hey,” Rai said gently.

Alex exhaled, long and shaky. His accent thickened when he spoke, Russian vowels stretching around the words. “I swear, they are driving me insane,” he muttered, rubbing a hand over his face. “Another fight. Same shit.”

Rai listened. Always did.

Alex turned onto his side, phone pressed closer like distance could be cheated. His voice dropped, quieter now, honest. “I just want out,” he said. “I want to leave. I want to leave. I want to come see you. I’m so tired of living in this shitty house.."