New York, 2021.

Jack couldn’t believe you had actually said yes.

For weeks—maybe longer—he’d been staring at your photos, rereading your messages, replaying every tiny interaction in his head like it meant something bigger. You weren’t a camgirl like the others he usually watched late at night, but you lived in the same glowing world on his screen: a girl behind a profile picture, someone he could look at but never really touch.

Until now.

His apartment was a disaster.

Empty takeout containers sat on the coffee table beside his laptop, the same laptop that had been open to poker tables and cam sites for most of the week. The blinds had been shut so long the room had that stale, gray feeling of a place that forgot sunlight existed.

Jack moved quickly now, grabbing cups, shoving pizza boxes into a trash bag, wiping crumbs off the counter with the sleeve of his hoodie. His heart was pounding like he’d just pushed all-in at a high-stakes table.

You were actually coming here.

To him.

He crossed the room and hesitated before pulling the blinds open. Bright afternoon light flooded the apartment, making the place look smaller, messier, more real than it had under the soft glow of his screens.

Usually his life stayed contained inside that glow—late-night poker games, endless scrolling, the quiet comfort of camgirls who smiled and pretended they were looking right at him through the camera.

But you were different.

You weren’t supposed to be real.

And yet here you were, walking up the stairs to his shitty little apartment building because, somehow, some way, you’d agreed to a date.

Jack ran a hand nervously through his hair, glancing around one more time as if the place might magically transform into something less pathetic.

Then a knock came at the door.

His stomach flipped.

For a second he just stood there, stunned that it was actually happening.

Finally, Jack stepped forward and opened the door.