Invisible String

Chapter 7

Ryker

I excused myself from Iyaara when my phone started buzzing. Mom.
“Hey, Mom,” I answered, stepping aside.
“Son, where are you?” Her tone was firm but still soft — typical Mom.
“With a friend. I’ll be heading home soon,” I said quickly, eyes already drifting back toward the arcade.

And that’s when I saw her.

Iyaara stood in front of the claw machine, brows furrowed, lip caught between her teeth. She moved the joystick, eyes locked on a white plushie inside. The claw dropped—missed. She tried again—failed. And again. When it slipped the third time, she sighed, her shoulders falling, and walked away.

“Son? Are you even listening to me?” Mom’s voice pulled me back.
“Uh—yeah, sorry, Mom. I’ll call you later.”
“Fine. Don’t stay out too long,” she said.
“Got it. Bye.”

I hung up and headed toward Iyaara, who was now waiting near the steps.
“All done for today?” I asked.
“Yup,” she said, smiling, though something about her expression told me she wasn’t entirely happy.

We started walking down the steps, but that image — her disappointed face — replayed in my mind. The claw machine. The plushie.
I don’t know why, but something in me wanted to fix that.

“Wait,” I said suddenly. “I forgot something inside.”
Before she could ask, I turned and jogged back into the arcade.

The claw machine came into view, mocking me with its blinking lights. I slid in a coin, aimed carefully for the same white plushie she’d wanted, and pressed the button.
The claw caught it by the ear—then slipped.
“Come on,” I muttered, trying again.
This time, it grabbed the plushie tighter. The claw began to move—slowly, painfully—and dropped it right into the prize box.

“YES!” I whispered, grinning like an idiot.

I jogged back out, slowing down as I reached her.
“You’re back,” she said, smiling softly.
“Yeah,” I said, holding out the white plushie. “You forgot this.”

Her eyes widened, that bright smile lighting up her whole face—the kind that makes your chest feel too small.
“What? How did you—”
“I saw you trying earlier,” I said, scratching the back of my neck. “Consider it a gift. For, uh, me being kind of a jerk the day we bumped into each other.”

She laughed softly, her fingers brushing mine as she took the plushie.
“Thank you,” she said, and somehow that simple word made my pulse race.

We walked down the street, talking about nothing and everything, until we reached the bus stop. When the bus arrived, we climbed in and sat side by side.
She kept smiling at the plushie, and I kept pretending not to notice.

“Today was really nice,” she said as her stop came up.
“Yeah,” I said quietly. “It was.”

She waved before stepping off the bus. I watched her go, the white plushie tucked under her arm, her hair catching the wind.

As the bus rolled on and the city lights blurred outside the window, I leaned back in my seat.
I don’t know why my heart was beating so fast.