—
Diya’s cheeks flushed as she glanced away, still avoiding my eyes. She’d once mentioned she wasn’t dating anyone, but I hadn’t expected this to be her very first date. I was still processing it when the hostess returned, placing our meals on the table before bowing and leaving.
The scent of salmon and fillet mignon lingered between us as Diya studied her plate.
“You seem surprised,” she said.
I let out a breath and smiled faintly. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t. I just assumed. And I know I shouldn’t assume without asking. Sorry.”
She laughed softly. “It’s fine. I know I come off as outgoing or... approachable, so people expect some secret love life. or a list of exes.”
“You're kind of popular around school,” I said with a chuckle.
“But being popular doesn’t mean I open myself up to romance.” She gently cut into her salmon, then paused, resting her fork for a moment. “Truth is, apart from a crush back in middle school, who never noticed me, I haven’t liked anyone since.”
“That’s actually… pretty relatable,” I admitted. “I’ve never felt that kind of connection either. For a while, I even wondered if I was capable of feeling that way.”
Her gaze lifted. “Sounds like your opinion’s changed.”
I met her eyes a moment too long before exhaling. “I don’t know. But I’m… open to that.”
After a pause, I cleared my throat and leaned forward slightly. “Don’t guys approach you, though?”
“They do,” she said with a shrug, casually twirling her fingers against the edge of her glass. “But I turn them down. Better to be clear from the start.”
Finally, she took a bite of her salmon, her face brightening the second the flavours hit her tongue. “Oh. This is good.”
“You see?” I leaned back with a smug smile. “I always pick right.”
She gestured toward my plate. “Your turn.”
I looked down at my fillet mignon. Cutting a neat piece, I brought it to my mouth and chewed.
“So?” she asked.
“It tastes great. Obviously.”
“I should’ve gone for something more exotic,” she said, then leaned forward with her fork. “May I?”
Honestly, considering Diya’s personality, I half-expected her to just steal a bite without asking. So she had food etiquette after all.
“We can swap,” I said, leaning toward her plate to take a bite from her salmon before she could object. She let out a laugh as she stabbed a piece of my fillet and popped it into her mouth.
We traded bites like kids sharing lunch, our conversation drifting between teasing, random topics, and half-serious questions.
—
—
After dinner, we stepped out of the restaurant and into the elevator. Diya laced her fingers behind her back as we descended to the second floor. In the corridor, weaving past groups of people and soft background music, she looked up at me, uneasy.
“You know… I didn’t really think about this before, but aren’t you spending a lot of your points on this?”
I glanced at her, noticing the guilt flash briefly across her face, and smiled. “It’s not exactly cheap. But hey, we planned this before the school’s whole digital currency thing kicked in.”
She slowed, head tilted down, before she looked up again. “I…” She hesitated, then nodded to herself. “How about this? I’ll pay for the rest of the date.”
“Huh? Why?”
“To help.” She stepped in front of me, halting us both. “You’ve done enough, and I don’t want you burning through all your points. Please?”
I sighed, amused. “Alright, alright. You can cover the rest.”
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Her face lit up. “Deal.”
We rounded the corner to the arcade, Storm Blast. Inside, the air buzzed with flashing lights and whirring machines, and it was crowded, sure, but not overwhelmingly so.
At the counter, I ordered twenty coins, and Diya scanned her phone at the terminal to pay.
“Thank you; have a fun time,” the attendant said, handing us a tray of coins.
I pocketed a few. “So, what do you want to start with?”
“Although this isn’t our usual spot, there’s supposed to be a machine just like the one Hazel and I play.”
Before I could reply, she grabbed my hand and pulled me through the crowd.
We stopped in front of a tall dance game, its screen flashing with the game’s logo as upbeat music played faintly in the background.
She turned to me. “Are you good at this?”
“I wouldn’t say I’m amazing, but I can keep up.”
“Right,” she said with a smirk, stepping onto the platform and pointing at me dramatically. “I challenge you. Do you accept, or are you going to chicken out?”
“Don’t underestimate me.” I stepped beside her, stretching. “Bring it on.”
“Ho ho, I like this,” she said with a grin, copying my stretches before sliding in a coin.
The track loaded. Countdown: 3… 2… 1…
The beat dropped. Arrows streamed up the screen, our feet moving in sync. At first, it was simple, but the tempo quickly picked up. From the corner of my eye, Diya hit every note flawlessly, as if she were made for this and was having the time of her life.
The pace reached its peak. My legs burnt, but I forced myself on. The final beat crashed down, and the screen exploded in a celebration of light. Perfect Score.
We stopped, catching our breath.
“Impressive, Marcus,” she said, slightly breathless. “Seems you're well-versed in the sacred art of dance combat.”
I laughed, wiping my brow. “I do try.”
She turned back to the machine. “Alright. No more warm-ups. Hardest difficulty.” She unzipped her boots and kicked them off.
I smirked, slipping off my shoes and coat. “Alright, Diya. Let's see what you've got.”
The next song started like an ambush with arrows blazing across the screen. My body moved on muscle memory, sweat running down my temples as my breath grew sharp and ragged.
Unlike before, I couldn’t even spare a glance at Diya. The machine demanded everything. One missed step snowballed into another.
The song reached its furious crescendo before ending in a final barrage of steps. I froze in place, hunched over and panting.
I looked up at the screen: 83%.
Respectable until I saw her score.
I let out a disbelieving chuckle and dropped onto the floor, resting back on my hands. “You’re a monster.”
Flushed and breathless, Diya grinned with her hands on her knees. “Dance machines are my speciality. Honestly, I shouldn’t have gone so hard, but… no regrets.”
91%. Considering the extreme difficulty, that score was impressive.
After a quick breather, we slipped our shoes back on. I brushed off my pants and grabbed my coat. “Alright, your turn to face defeat. Air hockey?”
“Oho? Switching to your home turf?” she teased.
We headed over, and I slid a coin in. The table buzzed to life.
“You’re going down, Marcus,” she declared, twirling her paddle. “I have ninja reflexes.”
I smirked. “Good. I’ve got a reason for picking this one, dear ninja, so don’t be mad when I score first.”
I dropped the puck onto the slick surface, and it hissed faintly as it glided across. Without a second’s hesitation, Diya lunged, slamming it back. The puck rocketed toward my goal like a bullet, and I barely managed to deflect it with a last-second flick, bouncing off the side walls.
“Nice save,” she said mockingly, before backhanding the puck clean into my goal.
I stared at the scoreboard. “Alright. Guess I’ll take this seriously.”
I swept my hair back, as if activating some kind of hidden power, and took my stance. “You’ve awakened my true form.”
The next few minutes were a blur. Diya was fast, clever, and full of surprises, but I held my own.
3–3. Then 4–4. Then 5–5.
I scored again, pulling into the lead.
Diya narrowed her eyes like a rival anime character, covering half her face with one hand. “The game hangs in the balance. There shall be one winner… and one loser.”
She smashed the puck with a forceful blow, but I was ready. I caught it and whipped the puck back with a counter-shot that curved along the wall and slipped straight into her goal.
6–5. Game over.
“And that’s how it’s done,” I said, pointing at her.
“Oh no, you don’t.” She slapped another coin down. “Again.”
Five rounds later, I had won them all. But to her credit, Diya never let up as each match was closer than the last.
We wandered through the arcade, and just as I was reaching to check the time, Diya suddenly grabbed my hand. “Photo booth. Come on.”
There was no reason to disagree.
“Time for my glamorous shoot,” I teased.
She snorted as we squeezed into the booth. A coin clinked in; the machine chimed to life.
“Alright, let’s make these count,” she said, scrolling through the on-screen filters.
The countdown for the first picture began—3… 2… 1…
“Flash a smile,” she said, elbowing me.
I smiled just as the light flared.
Before the next shot, she dug into the prop bin and tossed me a pair of oversized googly glasses. I put them on, and she threw a peace sign and stuck out her tongue just as the next flash lit up the booth.
From there, chaos reigned. The next few photos turned into a whirlwind of goofy poses.
Then came the final photo.
“Any ideas?” she asked.
I tilted my head. “How about I pretend to tell you a secret?”
Her grin widened. “Ooo, yes! Quick, lean in!”
The countdown started—3…
I turned slightly and cupped my hands around her ear.
2…
Diya leaned toward me.
1…
I whispered nothing at all and just let the moment linger.
Flash.
The photo was taken.
“Done and dusted,” she said lightly.
The machine whirred, then spat out two glossy strips. Diya took them, handing me one.
“These came out really well,” I said.
“They’re perfect,” she replied, tapping the last photo.
“And we each have a copy,” she added, slipping hers into her coat. Then held out mine between her fingers. “Make sure you cherish yours.”
I slipped it into my pocket with a nod.
“I will.”