Rejection. Funny how it becomes easier to expect than to avoid. I walked home that night with my hands buried deep in my pockets, the streetlights stretching my shadow thin on the pavement. Another confession, another "sorry." My childhood friend, no less.
Guess even nostalgia has its limits.
I've never thought of myself as ugly. I'm not the type to turn heads, but I'm not the type to make people flinch either. Black hair, average face, eyes like dark blue glass, sharp enough to see the world, not sharp enough to cut through it. Looks never seemed to be the problem. And yet, here I am, always left standing alone.
When I finally sank onto my bed, silence filled the room like heavy smoke. Maybe I'm just… ordinary. A college student drifting along, chasing nothing, achieving nothing. The kind of person life forgets to notice. People always say, "Work hard, study, and success will come." But what if effort isn't a currency you can actually spend? What if some doors stay locked no matter how many times you knock?
That thought made me laugh... quiet, bitter, a little cracked. The world demands too much and offers too little in return. So why keep playing by its rules? At least when I switch on my computer, the rules are clear. Quests have goals. Battles have winners. Progress is measurable. Reality? Reality's just an endless test without an answer sheet.
Maybe that's why I keep choosing the screen over the world outside. Because in games, I can matter. Because here, in this dimly lit room, lit only by pixels, I can believe, even for a moment, that failure isn't permanent.
After all, isn't life itself just another game? Only difference is, some people spawn with better stats.
The screen flickered to life, bathing my room in a pale blue glow. The hum of the cooling fan filled the silence, and with a few practiced clicks, I was logging into the only place where I felt less… invisible, an old MMORPG that most people had abandoned years ago, Royal Fantasy.
The familiar loading screen rolled by, and the instant I appeared in-game, a notification popped up.
[Message from: Mr.Pen67]
'Yo, you're late. When's our farming run?'
I chuckled under my breath. That guy. Always there, always waiting. His messages had the urgency of someone whose entire life revolved around this world of pixels and quests. My fingers hesitated on the keyboard before I started typing back.
'Sorry, just got back from class. Long day. Just logged in.'
His reply came faster than I could even lean back in my chair.
[Mr.Pen67]: Cool, let's go. Been waiting. Got nothing else to do anyway.
I stared at the screen for a moment, lips twisting into a wry smile. It was like he lived here, like this game was his real address, and the outside world was just an inconvenient dream. Part of me wondered if that was sad… or if it was enviable.
I shook my head and stretched my fingers, settling them back on the keyboard. "Alright then, Mr. Pen," I muttered. "Let's farm until the sun forgets to rise."
The login screen melted away, and my character materialized in the central plaza of Elaris City, a place built from glowing stone, lanterns that floated without strings, and music that looped endlessly in the background like a heartbeat. Even after years, it still felt more alive than the streets outside my dorm.
My avatar stood there in his steel-plated armor, blade strapped across his back, the kind of look I could never pull off in reality. Here, I wasn't just another forgettable student. Here, I was someone.
A flash of movement caught my eye. A cloaked ranger with a comically oversized bow waved in my direction. His name floated above his head: Mr.Pen67.
Almost immediately, another message popped up.
[Mr.Pen67]: Took you long enough. C'mon, mobs won't kill themselves.
I couldn't help but grin as I typed back.
[Az69]: Relax, I literally just sat down. Still in my college clothes.
His reply came in a heartbeat.
[Mr.Pen67]: And yet you logged in. Priorities, man. Priorities.
I laughed under my breath. This guy, Sometimes I wondered if he ever logged out at all. The way he moved through the city, the way he knew every little shortcut, every NPC routine… it was as if he'd lived here his whole life.
I followed him out of the gates, our avatars marching side by side into the sprawling fields where monsters roamed. The digital grass swayed in an endless wind, the sky stuck in a perpetual sunset.
"Let's go,"
We cut through the fields together, blades and arrows carving into packs of wolf-like beasts that howled as they dissolved into pixels. The rhythm was almost hypnotic, attack, dodge, strike, loot. A cycle cleaner and more satisfying than any day I'd spent in class.
Between volleys, a ping appeared in the chat.
[Mr.Pen67]: Hey, heard a rumor. There's a rare drop out here, some kind of crystal blade nobody's managed to find yet. Wanna hunt it?
I paused, eyes narrowing at the glowing words. A rare item. The kind of thing that could take weeks, maybe months, of grinding. But there was excitement in his message, the kind of excitement I hadn't felt in reality for a long time.
'Alright,' I typed back. 'Let's look for it. Beats staring at my textbooks anyway.'
[Mr.Pen67]: Knew you'd say that. That's why you're my partner.
We spent hours mowing down monsters, scouring every corner of the map. No crystal blade. Just mountains of hides, claws, and junk loot filling our inventories. Still, the time slipped by almost too easily, like the game had a way of bending the clock.
By the time we dragged our exhausted avatars back to Elaris City, our bags overflowed with loot. We sold it all off at the market, coins piling up in our shared party wallet. Afterward, as was our ritual, we headed to the tavern, an NPC-run inn with warm golden light, digital mugs of ale, and the constant hum of chatter from characters who never truly lived.
I sat my avatar at the corner table across from Mr.Pen's ranger. For a while, we just sat in silence, the tavern's fake laughter filling the space between us. Then, almost without thinking, I typed it out.
[Az69]: Got rejected today. Childhood friend. Thought maybe this time… but nope.
My fingers hovered over Enter for a second before I pressed it. The words floated in the chatbox, fragile and naked.
For a moment, there was no response. Just the clink of mugs and the endless loop of a bard strumming in the background. I almost regretted saying anything. Then his reply came, blunt and immediate.
[Mr.Pen67]: Ouch. That sucks.
I smirked faintly at the screen, half-expecting more but knowing that was probably as close to comfort as he got. Still, in that moment, even that short message felt like a hand on my shoulder.