Elva Tanner

The late summer evening air was thick with the scent of grilled meat and chlorine, buzzing with the laughter and chatter of John's colleagues. String lights crisscrossed above the backyard patio, casting a warm, golden glow over clusters of people holding red plastic cups. Music thrummed from outdoor speakers, just loud enough to fill silences. Elva stood just outside the sliding glass door, her fingers nervously smoothing down the front of her simple white A-line dress—a soft lavender cotton that ended just above her knees. She'd spent an hour deciding on it, another hour on her hair, and had finally swapped her glasses for contact lenses after three failed attempts. Her eyes scanned the crowd near the shimmering blue pool, past laughing groups... and then she saw Kamu leaning against the wooden fence at the far end of the yard, slightly apart from the main crowd. Her heart hammered against her ribs like it wanted to escape. This was it—the first dialogue option in what she desperately hoped would be her own real-life route. She took one shaky breath, then another, grabbed a red cup just to have something in her hand, and approached. "H-hey," she stammered, standing a few feet away.