Chapter 8 — The Picnic by the Lake
Sunday morning came slow.
The kind of slow that stretched across the apartment in warm, quiet light, making everything feel softer, calmer. My alarm hadn't gone off yet, but I was already awake, staring at the ceiling with a faint ache in my ribs and a heavier one in my chest — anticipation mixed with nerves.
Today was the day.
Not a date. Not officially, anyway. Just… a moment. A careful step forward.
The system shimmered awake as soon as I sat up, its blue glow brushing the edges of my vision.
[Daily Quest Unlocked]
Perform a Meaningful Physical Gesture
Reward: (+1 to a Random Stat)
A "meaningful physical gesture. "Not a kiss — thankfully — but something deliberate. Intentional? That could be risky in its own quiet way.
Offering a hand. Helping her up. Adjusting a stray leaf from her hair. Something small, but real... that's doable.
"Okay," I murmured to myself. "No pressure."
The system faded, leaving me standing alone in my tiny living room, the picnic supplies gathered neatly on the counter. The green-and-cream checkered blanket was folded, looking almost too perfect. The wicker basket sat packed and ready: sandwiches layered with fresh vegetables and herb-seasoned chicken, cheese and crackers, washed berries, the lemonade I'd squeezed by hand last night, and — after ten minutes of internal debating — a bottle of white wine.
Not too bold. Not too plain. Just… thoughtful.
I checked the time. Still an hour before Ava was supposed to arrive.
I tried to sit on the couch... I lasted thirty seconds.
I tried to rearrange the basket... I lasted ten.
Finally, I opened the fridge and chugged water just to keep busy.
Nerves were embarrassing.
But good.
They meant I cared.
A knock came at the door.
Thirty-four minutes early.
My pulse jumped.
I wiped my hands automatically, even though they weren't wet, and opened the door.
Ava stood there, hair pulled into a loose ponytail, face still touched with sleep. No makeup. Hoodie again. Leggings. The casual version of her — the real her — the one she didn't show the world.
"Oh," I said, blinking. "Hey. You're… early."
She tugged at her sleeve, sheepish. "Yeah. I, um… couldn't sleep. Figured since you're probably up, I'd just come."
Something in her voice was shy, hesitant.
It made something in my ribcage warm.
"Well," I said, stepping back so she could enter, "I'm glad you're here."
She stepped inside, eyes skating across the picnic supplies on the counter. The basket. The blanket. The food. The bottle of wine.
Her lips parted. The tiniest breath caught in her throat.
"Um… Ethan?" she said carefully. "What… exactly is all this?"
For the first time all morning, I felt stupid.
"Actually, I thought…" I swallowed, rubbing the back of my neck. "I thought a picnic would be nice."
Her eyes widened.
Like she was shocked. Like she didn't expect this level of effort. Like she was trying to figure out what she feels about it.
"A picnic..." she repeated, quietly.
"Only if you want to," I added quickly, suddenly feeling stupid for bringing this up out of nowhere, "I just figured you've been cooped up in a hospital room all week. And outside feels different. Better. And I thought that you could use a change of pace, something to help relax. And—"
I stopped myself.
Too many words. Too fast.
She stepped closer, looking from the blanket to the basket again.
"This looks…" Her breath hitched. "This looks like a lot of work."
"I mean, a little," I admitted. "But I wanted it to be good."
"Good..." she echoed. "For who?"
"You," I said simply.
Her eyes shot up to mine — wide, soft, startled.
And for a moment, something unspoken hung between us.
"Should we… go?" she whispered.
I nodded, grabbed the basket, and she followed me out.
We took a cab to the park — her insistence, my wallet's pain or my ribs— I chose my wallet. The ride was short, the conversation soft but steady. She asked how I slept, if my ribs still hurt, if cooking this morning was too much strain. I teased her about worrying too much, and she teased back about me being an idiot who ran into vans.
The driver dropped us off near the lake. The air was warm, sunlight shimmering across the water like scattered crystals. A few families dotted the grass, kids running, dogs barking, couples stretched out under trees.
It felt open. Bright.
Exactly what I hoped for.
I carried the basket while Ava held the folded blanket. We walked to a quiet patch near the water, half-shaded, half-sunlit. Perfect.
I took the blanket from her hands, shook it out, and spread it over the grass with a dramatic swoop. Then — feeling ridiculous but committed — I stepped back and gave a little bow.
"My lady," I declared.
Ava snorted.
Actually snorted.
"Oh my god," she laughed, covering her mouth. "You're so stupid."
"Only the finest stupidity for you," I said, offering a hand to help her sit.
Her fingers brushed mine — soft, hesitant.
A spark ran through my chest.
The system pulsed faintly.
[Meaningful Gesture Registered]
Daily Quest Progress: 1/1
Reward: (+1 Strength)
I swallowed, pretending nothing happened, and guided her onto the blanket.
We settled across from each other, the lake quiet beside us. I unpacked the basket, laying out the spread: cheese, crackers, sliced strawberries and other fruits, the sandwiches arranged neatly, the lemonade, the wine, the napkins I folded like triangles because I got bored last night.
Ava stared.
"You…" She blinked. "You really went over the top."
I shrugged casually, hands shaking only a little. "You deserve nothing but the best."
She blushed. "Ethan…"
"Well," I added, softer now, "the truth is I just wanted to see you smile. And spoil you a little. You've spent enough time surrounded by white hospital walls. Thought some fresh air, good food, and quiet would make you breathe easier. Maybe even relax."
Silence.
Not awkward. Not tense.
But it was heavy, it felt... emotional.
When I finally looked up, her eyes were glossy — tears clinging to her lashes.
"Ava?" I asked gently.
Her voice cracked when she spoke.
"That's… my line," she whispered. "You were the one in the hospital. You were the one hurt. I was bringing you food to help you feel better, so why are you treating me so kindly?"
I exhaled through my nose, steady, careful. I mean while I started doing this cuz of the system and I do want the rewards, I'm also interested in seeing how this goes. I genuinely enjoy spending time with Ava, she's an amazing person and I want to support her so...
"Because you deserve a quiet moment too," I said. "Everyone does."
Her lips trembled.
And then she didn't speak for a long time.
She just reached for a strawberry, eating it slowly, staring at the lake with her shoulders finally beginning to loosen. The tension she carried — the pressure, the expectations, the need to appear fine — all softened around the edges.
We talked as we ate. About nothing at all. About everything.
She teased me about the way I sliced the sandwiches "like a dad."I teased her about over-hyping caramel drizzle on coffee. We argued lightly about whether all squirrels were secretly evil. She laughed more freely than she had all week.
And when the food was gone, we lay back on the blanket, side by side but not touching, looking up at shifting white clouds drifting across a quiet blue sky.
"What does that cloud look like?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.
"A rabbit," I answered.
"That's not a rabbit," she scoffed. "That's clearly a dragon."
"That is NOT a dragon."
"That is absolutely a dragon."
I turned my head to look at her. "You know, for someone who hates crowds, you're surprisingly confident when you're wrong."
Her mouth dropped open.
"You—" she turned toward me, hair falling over her shoulder, "—are lucky you're injured or I'd push you into the lake."
"Violence isn't the answer, Ava."
"It is when you're being annoying."
We both laughed.
Warm. Unscripted.
The kind of laughter that settles somewhere deep.
After a while, the warmth of the sun and the softness of the blanket made my eyelids heavy. I fought it — God, I fought it — because the last thing I wanted was to fall asleep like an idiot in the middle of our picnic.
But her voice drifting through the air was comforting. The lake was calm. The breeze was gentle.
And the last thing I heard was her soft humming beside me — a tuneless little sound she probably didn't even realize she was making.
My eyes closed.
And I fell asleep.
When I woke, the world was dimmer — the sun lower, shadows longer. The air cooler against my skin. I blinked up at the sky, brain foggy, and slowly turned my head.
Ava sat beside me, knees drawn up, arms wrapped around them lightly. She was watching the lake, hair framing her face, the breeze playing with the ends of her ponytail.
Her expression…Soft. she was looking far away. Thinking.
"Did I—" I cleared my throat "—did I fall asleep?"
She turned to me slowly.
"Yeah," she said, smiling. "You were knocked out for like twenty minutes."
I groaned. "I'm so sorry. I wasn't—"
"Don't be," she said quickly. "You looked… peaceful, actually."
My face warmed. "Still embarrassing."
She shook her head gently. "Not to me."
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
The lake rippled. Birds scattered overhead. The world felt small, quiet, and entirely ours.
Finally, she reached over and lightly brushed a leaf out of my hair.
It felt casual. She was soft in the way her hand brushed against me, almost like it was... Instinctive.
I stared at her, stunned by the unexpected tenderness.
Her hand paused for half a second before she pulled it back, cheeks pink.
"Thank you," she said suddenly.
"For what?" I asked.
"For today. For… all of this." She gestured to the blanket, the basket, the fading sunlight. "No one's ever done something like this for me."
I sat up slowly, careful with my ribs. "Then I'm glad I did."
She held my gaze for a long moment — longer than she ever had before.
Then she looked away, flustered. "We should probably get going. It's getting cold."
"Yeah," I said softly. "Let's pack up."
We worked quietly, folding the blanket together, brushing grass off the corners, placing everything back into the basket. Our hands touched once, lightly — barely a brush.
Neither of us commented.
But both of us felt it.
We called a cab, and on the ride back she leaned just a little toward me, not touching, not leaning on me — just close. Comfortable. Warm.
I walked her to her dorm, carrying the basket despite her insisting she could help.
At the entrance, she paused, fingers tightening slightly around her sleeves.
"Ethan?" she murmured.
"Yeah?"
She hesitated — a long, soft hesitation — then said:
"Thank you. Seriously."
I nodded. "Anytime."
"Same time tomorrow?" she asked — quietly, hopefully.
My chest tightened in the best possible way.
"Same time," I said.
She smiled — a shy, beautiful curve of lips — and took a step toward the door… then stopped suddenly, turning back with a tiny gasp.
"Oh—wait." She pressed a hand to her forehead, flustered. "I'm such an idiot."
I blinked. "Uh… what?"
"I don't know why I didn't think of this before." She fumbled in her hoodie pocket, pulling out her phone. "We should exchange numbers. You know… in case something happens. Or—" her voice softened, "—just to stay in touch."
The way she said the last part was quiet, careful, like she was testing the ground beneath her feet.
I took out my phone. "Yeah. Of course."
Our fingers brushed as we traded phones to input our contacts — small, accidental, warm. She typed her name into mine simply as Ava, no emojis, no last name. I added mine into hers, and when we exchanged devices back, she held hers to her chest like it mattered more than she expected it to.
"There," she said softly. "Now you can… reach me. Whenever."
"I will," I said. "And you can reach me too."
Ava nodded, cheeks tinted pink. This time when she turned toward the door, she didn't hesitate.
"Goodnight, Ethan," she murmured.
"Goodnight, Ava."
She slipped inside, the door clicking shut behind her.
For a long moment, I stood there in the cooling evening air, basket in hand, heart steady and full.
But I barely noticed the glow from my phone
All I felt was warmth — from the picnic, from her smile, from the quiet closeness that didn't need to be named.
The night ended not with fireworks, but with something better.
A beginning.
A real one.