As Rayne stepped through the front door after school, she paused, taking in the scene she had meticulously arranged earlier that morning. Golden light poured through the bay window, bathing the living room in a warm, inviting glow.

At the center of the room stood a polished glass coffee table, usually home to her mother’s glossy design magazines and her father’s leather-bound tomes. But today, the table was draped with a vibrant red tablecloth she had set up earlier, standing out against the room’s neutral tones. In the center, a heart-shaped cookie with cheerful pink frosting sat, though its charm was marred by the misspelled name, “Rain”—a careless mistake by the bakery she hadn’t noticed until she got home. Beside it, a pearl-white gift box wrapped in satin ribbon awaited—a collector’s edition of Pride and Prejudice, a present she had bought for herself. A cherry-red heart-shaped balloon, tied to the armrest of her chair, swayed gently in the soft breeze.

Rayne dropped her bag by the door and wandered over to the table. “Oh, what’s this?” she said to herself with mock surprise, playing out a scene she’d imagined a hundred times. Sinking into the plush cushions of the couch, she carefully unwrapped the book, pretending it was a gift from a secret admirer, someone who knew her better than anyone.

Even though she already knew what was inside, there was something comforting in the ritual—the untied satin ribbon, the crinkling of wrapping paper. The moment still felt special, like she was giving herself the attention she secretly longed for. Gazing at the book, she sighed softly. “Where’s my Mr. Darcy at?”

Valentine’s Day had always meant something to Rayne, even though she’d never had a boyfriend. She’d spent years reading about love—about the kind of romance that sweeps people off their feet. But the boys at school? They barely noticed her. She wasn’t the girl anyone pined over, and that hurt more than she liked to admit. Every crush ended the same: unnoticed, unspoken, and eventually forgotten.

But this year was going to be different. She didn’t want to be the girl daydreaming about someone who would never see her. She wanted real love—the kind that would embrace all her quirks, not just the version of herself she tried to present to the world. Someone who’d spell her name right, at least.

Her phone buzzed, pulling her out of her thoughts. A message from Samantha lit up the screen: “Hey girl, Coffee?”

The cookie on the table now felt more like a joke than a treat. A quick escape with Sam sounded like exactly what she needed. Smiling, she typed back, “Absolutely. See you soon!”

Hopping on her bike, Rayne felt a small weight lift from her chest, as if the cool breeze blowing through the quiet streets could carry away her solitude. She pedaled past rows of familiar houses, their windows glowing faintly in the dusk, the distant laughter of children and the scent of wood smoke filling the air. For a moment, the world seemed lighter—brighter.

But as her feet pushed the pedals, her thoughts drifted back to the state of modern romance. Dating apps. Swipes. Profiles that boiled people down to a few pictures and a handful of witty lines. It all felt so shallow, so disconnected. She’d tried it once or twice—every conversation fizzling out before it even began. How could something meaningful come from a system built on quick judgments? Was this really what love had become? A game of fleeting connections that vanished before you even had a chance to know someone?

She tightened her grip on the handlebars, her knuckles pale against the worn grips, and pedaled harder, as if she could outrun the frustration settling into her chest. Wasn’t there something more? She wanted a connection that went beyond the surface, something real—not just swipes and small talk that led nowhere.

Her thoughts wandered, and soon, she was lost in her favorite stories. What would Elizabeth Bennet do in today’s world of apps and algorithms? Rayne imagined her sharp wit slicing through endless small talk, her pride keeping her from settling for anything less than true love. And Anne Elliot—would she scroll through profiles hoping to rekindle something lost, or would the weight of all those Tinder matches crush her quiet hope?

A small smile tugged at Rayne’s lips. Jane Eyre, with her fierce independence, wouldn’t stand for any of it. Could anyone today love with the same depth and conviction she had for Mr. Rochester? It seemed impossible. In a world where people ghosted each other without a second thought, Jane’s love felt like a relic of another time.

Rayne sighed, shaking off the thoughts of fictional love as the familiar sight of Whimsical Brew came into view. The café, with its mismatched furniture and shelves of well-loved books, was like stepping into one of those stories she adored. The moment she pushed open the door, the warm scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft glow of fairy lights wrapped around her like a favorite sweater.

The place was quiet, just the way she liked it. A few patrons were scattered around—a man reading a newspaper at the corner table, two runners chatting about their next workout in the back. At the entrance, the café’s golden retriever mascot greeted her with a wag of its tail, adding to the familiar coziness.

Rayne breathed in deeply, savoring the comforting blend of coffee and the faint mustiness of old books. She and Samantha settled into their usual corner, a cozy nook framed by shelves of books with a small window overlooking the street. It was their second home, a space where they could talk for hours without feeling the pressure of time. Samantha glanced up from her phone, her laid-back vibe and casual outfit—baggy jeans and a flannel shirt—fitting effortlessly into the café's relaxed, unpretentious atmosphere.

Indie rock played softly in the background, its soothing melodies blending seamlessly with the gentle hum of conversation and the occasional hiss of the espresso machine. Rayne loved how the music here was always just right—not too loud to drown out conversations, but just enough to create a comforting soundscape.

As Rayne took in the surroundings, she felt a wave of contentment wash over her. This place, with its quirky decor and welcoming atmosphere, was her sanctuary. Here, amidst the soft chatter and the comforting aroma of coffee, she could let her guard down and simply be herself.

Samantha smiled. "Happy Valentine's Day, Rayne! Desperate for caffeine—or maybe something stronger?"

"Hot chocolate will do," Rayne sighed.

Samantha leaned in, narrowing her eyes with mock suspicion. "Alright, out with it. You look like someone made off with your favorite book."

Rayne managed a tired smile. "It's just another Valentine's Day, Sam. Here I am, still single, and no Romeo in sight."

Samantha prepared for her next motivational spiel, but Rayne's gaze drifted to Quentin from her social studies class, engrossed in a book on "Emotional Intelligence," his brow furrowed in concentration. There was something oddly endearing about the way he studied, as if he were solving a puzzle.

"Listen," Samantha broke Rayne's reverie. "You've got to put yourself out there. Love's a game, girl, and you've got to be in it to win it."

Rayne chuckled. "When did you become a love guru? You know I have a complex relationship with games."

Samantha let out a sigh, her face tinged with frustration. "Look, we're both stuck in a rut, okay? Neither of us has been on a date in forever. So let's just make the most of today!" Her voice rose to a shout on the last words.

Rayne took a slow sip of her hot chocolate, savoring the warmth as it slid down her throat. Setting the cup down with a soft clink, she glanced at Samantha. "So, what’s the plan today? We could hit up the bookstore. Who knows, you might actually enjoy reading something for once."

Samantha groaned. "Reading feels like a chore. I'd rather wait for the movie version of whatever book you're pushing on me."

Adjusting the collar of her sweatshirt, Rayne hesitated before saying, "Actually, there is a movie I've been wanting to check out."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Is it some sort of horror flick?"

"No," Rayne replied, a bit hesitant to maintain eye contact.

"So it's action-packed?"

Rayne shifted uncomfortably in her chair. "Why can't we watch something that falls outside the realm of horror or action? It's animated, but it's really—"

Samantha interrupted her, almost preemptively. "Stop. No anime pitches today, got it?"

Rayne responded with a frown.

"Don't give me those puppy-dog eyes," Samantha chided, glancing at her wrist as if an imaginary watch were there. "Time's a-wasting. Let's go, I'm starving. You can even pick the restaurant."

As Samantha rifled through her bag for her purse, Rayne's thoughts drifted back to Quentin. She felt the impulse to say hello but hesitated. They had never talked outside of class before, and whenever they did, the conversation always revolved around school. What could she possibly say now?

"Ah-ha!" Samantha finally unearthed her coin purse, holding it up triumphantly. "I’ve got enough for a Publix pie. Valentine’s Day splurge?"

Rayne chuckled, already digging through her own purse. "Big pie or one of the small ones?"

Samantha shook the coin purse, the clinking sound answering for her. "You do the math."

Both girls laughed, and Rayne zipped her bag back up, sighing. "Being poor sucks."

They left the café, stepping onto the wide, empty sidewalk. The pale glow of the streetlights painted everything in an eerie monochrome, their shadows stretching long across the pavement. Most of the shops were closed, their darkened interiors making the street feel even lonelier.

Samantha pointed towards a faint cloud of vapor where a group of guys were lounging outside the movie theater, their silhouettes backlit by the neon sign. "Hey, isn't that your guy, Phoenix?"

Rayne froze. "Where?" Her eyes followed Samantha's finger. As the clouds dissipating into the darkness, the guys looked like they had stepped out of a music video. "Oh man, I forgot he works there. Look at my hair, it's like I got caught in a wind tunnel," she muttered, putting her hands on her head and ducking behind a bush.

"You're fine," Samantha assured her, waving towards the guys. "He can't even see you from this distance."

Rayne fidgeted with her braid, trying to smooth it out. "Ugh, what’s he doing now?"

"Stop hiding... it looks like I'm having a one-sided conversation with a shrub."

Taking a deep breath, Rayne hesitantly stood, using Samantha as a shield between her and Phoenix's crew. "Life's cruel," she sighed, still patting down rogue strands of her hair. From her vantage point, she caught a glimpse of Phoenix, whose hair remained enviably perfect, animatedly laughing at a buddy who was raising his knees and flapping elbows like a chicken. "Just look at him—always so effortlessly cool."

"He’s a normal dude," Samantha rolled her eyes, then tilted her head towards a looming advertisement featuring a chiseled Tommy Hilfiger model. "Now that guy looks good." She studied the bare chest of the model who seemed to be wearing a shirt as an afterthought. "I'm not into all that, but I can appreciate the aesthetics."

Rayne’s hazel eyes never left Phoenix, who was now engrossed in his phone. "That model might be handsome and all, but he doesn't make me feel anything,"

Samantha let out an exaggerated sigh, rubbing her temples as if nursing a headache. "Oh, for the love of... Just walk over there and start a conversation. I swear, I’ll lose my mind if I have to endure another year of you pining over him from a distance."

Defeated, Rayne collapsed onto a nearby bench, the weight of her unrequited feelings pressing down. She rummaged through her purse, pulling out a well-worn Chapstick, rolling it absently between her fingers. "It's not like I haven't made an effort, Sam."

Samantha raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And how exactly have you 'tried'?" she asked, using exaggerated air quotes.

Rayne's cheeks flushed. "I... um, called him once." She said, applying Chapstick and avoiding Samantha’s gaze.

Samantha leaned in closer. "Okay, and? What happened?"

Rayne hesitated, her voice barely above a whisper. "I panicked and pretended to be a telemarketer selling vacuum cleaners. I mean, I really went all in—I even described the features, benefits, and offered a special discount. But then he handed the phone to his parents, and I didn’t know what to say, so I just hung up."

Samantha burst out laughing and flopped back onto the bench dramatically. "A vacuum cleaner? Really? Just when I think you're going to step up and be brave, you become an impromptu salesperson? That's legendary Rayne-level awkwardness!"

Rayne's eyes flashed defiantly. "It's not as easy as you think," she shot back, her hands clumsily fiddling with the defiant Chapstick cap that seemed to mock her inability to secure it.

As the guys faded into the movie theater's illumination, Samantha shot a sideways glance at Rayne. "Hand me your phone. Let's just call him now. I'll do it."

Rayne’s eyes widened in horror. "No way! You're not doing that."

"Come on! He wouldn’t recognize my voice, and I’ve got no qualms asking him out for you,” Samantha pushed.

Rayne looked at her skeptically. "You might think he doesn’t know your voice, but practically everyone in our grade recognizes Samantha’s infamous voice from a mile away. It’s... distinctive." Agitated, she finally got the cap off but tossed it into her purse instead of using it.

Samantha struck a dramatic pose, flipping her hair with faux pride. "What can I say? Born to be a diva."

Rayne let out a weary sigh, her gaze drifting past the concrete and lights of the shopping center to the dark sky beyond, where not a single star was visible. "This has to be the most pathetic Valentine's Day in the history of Valentine's Days."

Samantha draped an arm around her, pulling her in close with a comforting squeeze. "Hey, it might not be a day filled with romantic grand gestures, and yeah, I didn't shower you with chocolates or surprise you with a bouquet of roses, but look at the bright side: at least you didn't run into Ginger today."

Rayne shuddered. "Ugh, don’t even utter that name; it feels like invoking an evil spirit. I wouldn’t put it past her to appear out of thin air if someone mentions her."

Samantha laughed, "Come on, she's bad, but she's not He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or whatever."

"You mean Voldemort?" Rayne corrected, a smirk playing on her lips.

Samantha grinned, her eyes twinkling with playful tease as she leaned in closer, “See, this is precisely why Ginger can’t stand you. You’ve got this intelligent charm—and maybe, just maybe, those naturally long lashes she can’t compete with.” They both burst into giggles.

Rayne brushed a stray strand of hair behind her ear. "Honestly, any small thing is just fuel for Ginger. It's like she thrives on being nasty." With a heavy sigh, she got up from the bench, her purse dangling lazily from her hand as she made her way back toward the café. "I'm calling it a night."

Samantha, momentarily taken aback, scrambled to her feet. "Hold up! Weren’t we on a mission for pie?"

Rayne shrugged. "It’s Valentine’s Day. Tonight, I just want to be alone."

With a theatrical roll of her eyes, Samantha called out, "Alright, Miss Drama, go cocoon in self-pity! I'm treating myself to an entire pie."

As Rayne approached her house, the dark windows confirmed her suspicion: her family was still out. It made sense—her parents never missed an excuse to dine out, and they were probably enjoying a romantic dinner somewhere.

Rayne quickly changed into her coziest strawberry-themed pajamas, the soft pink fabric wrapping her in a familiar sense of comfort—a small armor against the world. She climbed into bed, burying herself beneath the warm blanket.

Just as she was settling in, her phone buzzed. A message from Samantha. The screen displayed an emoji heart, followed by a ridiculous photoshopped image: Ginger, her arch-nemesis, hilariously transformed with a devilish goatee and horns perched atop her perfectly styled blonde bangs. Despite herself, she couldn't help but chuckle. The corners of her mouth curled up into a genuine smile. In that moment, she realized that while she might have had better Valentine's Days in the past, she had certainly had worse ones too.