Penny was halfway through sketching a new armor variant for Starfall Valkyrie when someone knocked—not the triple tap, not the pattern she'd begun to map like constellations.
Just a polite, normal-person knock.
She blinked.
Leonard.
"Hey," he said when she opened the door, smiling like he'd practiced it in the mirror. "We were wondering if you wanted to, uh… come with us today? The guys and me."
Penny tilted her head. "Where to?"
"Comic book shop," he said. "It's kind of our… ritual."
She smiled, this was the beginning. Original Penny might have said 'yes' not knowing what to expect but SHE did.
Her heart warmed. Because this was Leonard asking in good faith, not as a romantic lead, but as a friend.
"Sure," she said. "Lemme grab my shoes."
---
The shop smelled exactly like the show had promised: old paper, plastic sleeves, and the faint despair of men whose only social interaction was arguing about retcon timelines.
The bell jingled as they entered.
Sheldon walked in first, naturally, cataloging the aisles. Raj drifted toward the graphic novels. Howard immediately picked a fight with a cardboard cut-out of Wolverine.
And behind the counter—
"Hi," said Stuart, softer and more apologetic than any human had a right to be. "You must be Penny."
She smiled warmly. "Hi. First time here."
"You're, uh… very welcome," he managed, straightening a display nervously.
Leonard preened like he'd just won a prize.
Howard nudged him. "Dude, you brought a girl. Stuart might faint."
Penny laughed and moved away before Leonard got flustered.
She wandered the aisles, soaking up every glossy cover, every world she'd once loved as a fan.
Her fingers brushed a blank-cover variant, the kind artists used for custom sketches.
A ripple moved through her chest.
She picked it up gently.
Penny Teller, reincarnated oddity with a cosmic system and a slowly growing soulmate thread, whispered to herself:
"I'm gonna publish my comic someday."
The vow landed solidly inside her.
A choice.
Her choice.
And right on cue—
"Penny."
She turned. Sheldon stood there, arms crossed, eyes narrowed in concentrated analysis. This was his 'I've detected an anomaly' stance.
"You are examining the structure," he said.
"Uh… it's a comic book, sweetie. I'm just reading the cover."
"No," he said, stepping closer. "I've observed your behavior. You don't browse randomly. You track the spine labels, note the issue counts, glance at the artist credits, and evaluate the paneling style. That is not casual perusal."
"Well," she said, "maybe I just like knowing how stories are put together."
He stared harder. "You understand pacing frameworks."
"Maybe."
"You understand arc-to-issue ratios."
"Little bit."
"And earlier, you corrected Howard when he misquoted an origin story."
"That one was obvious."
Sheldon leaned in, studying her like a whiteboard full of unsolved variables.
"This level of narrative analysis is not typical."
Her stomach tightened.
She needed to tread lightly.
"So I'm a nerd," she teased. "Big deal."
He didn't buy it. Not entirely.
"You exhibit meta-genre awareness," he said quietly, almost impressed. "It's rare. Statistically rare."
Her breath caught.
This was a turning point—small, subtle, but real.
He wasn't annoyed.
He wasn't overwhelmed.
He was intrigued.
Sheldon Cooper, human supercomputer, was mapping her.
Trying to understand her.
Not dismissing her.
"You should write something," he said abruptly.
Then his eyes widened like the sentence had escaped without permission.
"I mean—if you want. Many people try and fail. Statistically, the odds are—"
She cut him off gently. "I want to."
He froze.
"…Oh," he said, softening. "Then statistically, your odds improve."
And he walked away before she could see the faint, proud smile tugging at his mouth.
---
As they checked out, Leonard nudged her. "You had fun?"
"I did," she said honestly.
"We hang out here every week," he said. "You're welcome anytime."
Penny smiled at him—kind, sincere.
"Thanks, Leonard. Really."
No flirtation.
No tension.
Just a warm thread of friendship.
And it felt right.
---
Penny dropped the blank-cover comic on her coffee table.
An empty canvas.
A future she could choose.
She opened her sketchbook.
The Starfall Valkyrie stared back—starlit, defiant, alive.
Penny whispered:
"I'm going to make you real."
The System flickered at the edge of her vision.
[CREATIVE ALIGNMENT INCREASED]
[NEW OBJECTIVE FLAGGED: "PUBLISH STARFALL VALKYRIE"]
Penny smiled.
Sheldon, across the hall, paused mid-step like he'd sensed something—an alignment, a shift in probability space he couldn't yet name.
But he'd notice.
Eventually.
Especially now that she was on his radar as something more than a chaotic neighbor.
She was becoming…an anomaly worth tracking.