Day 5: Chloe (Drinking With Kailani)

The student union bar was low-lit and half-forgotten at this hour, the way only university spaces could be in mid-afternoon. A couple of quiet tables held laptop zombies, a pair of international students murmured over card games in the corner, and you—slumped in a booth like part of the furniture—kept hugging your pint like it was a surrogate for your College Spread girl. It was already half gone, each gulp less about taste and more about dulling the throb of a week that had already beat you.

You weren’t dramatic enough to call it failure. But it sure as hell didn’t feel like progress.

You didn’t notice Kailani until she slid into the booth across from you, one leg folded beneath her and her hoodie slightly off one shoulder like she hadn’t planned to be anywhere in particular today. She didn’t speak at first—just studied you for a second, her expression unreadable.

Then, casually, she said “You always drink like that when you get stood up, or is this a new phase?”

You looked up, the corners of your mouth twitching. “Not stood up. Just… beat.”

She gave a slow nod, leaning back. “The game?”

You sighed, tapping your fingers against the condensation on your glass. “Yeah. I drew a girl who’s not into guys. And I don’t mean maybe, or she’s got a boyfriend. I mean—capital-L Lesbian.”

Kailani didn’t react with mockery or pity. She just watched you, calm, like she was flipping through your sentences for useful data.

“Who?” she asked, after a beat.

You picked up your tablet, swiped to the card, and turned it toward her. Chloe Davenport. Ten of Diamonds. The moment she saw it, something in her face shifted—not surprise, but recognition. She tilted her head slightly, eyes narrowing with curiosity, as if a piece had just clicked into place.

“She’s the one you pulled?”

“Yep.”

“And… nothing?”

“Nothing.” You exhaled. “She’s polite. Distant. Never rude, but there’s no opening. Not even a sideways glance. I checked everything—her socials, her OnlyFans previews, even some older posts. It’s all girls, all the time. She’s not bi, not curious, not flexible. Just... locked in. And I’m not the guy to push that line, even if I could.”

Kailani nodded again, slower this time, as if weighing that more seriously. Then she stood up with a grunt and said, “Right, you're not a douchebag or a fucking idiot. Stay put.”

You blinked as she walked away without explanation, only to return a minute later with two short glasses—dark brown liquid and no fanfare. She set one in front of you and slid into the seat again.

You stared. “I don’t know if I should thank you or worry.”

“Just drink,” she said. “You looked like you needed something with more gravity.”

You downed it, shuddered once. She followed suit, barely flinching. The burn cleared your head more than dulled it.

For a while, neither of you said anything.

Then she spoke again, more gently this time. “So, you didn’t even try?”

You shook your head. “I didn’t see the point. I’ve got five challenge cards, and none of them make sense with her. I didn’t even pick one to use. Figured I’d end the week with a quiet burn and hope I don’t get eliminated early.”

Kailani gave a thoughtful little hum and glanced at your screen again. Then, after a pause that felt like she was trying to convince herself more than you, she said, “I might have an idea.”

You turned to look at her. She didn’t meet your eyes, just swirled the last of her drink in her glass, watching the slow whirl of amber liquid.

“No guarantees,” she added. “It could be nothing. Probably is.”

“What kind of idea?”

“If I can get her to meet you,” she said slowly, like she was choosing each word with care, “you should be ready. That’s all I’m saying.”

You frowned. “Meet me how? Like… casually? Social thing?”

“Maybe,” she said. “Or not. Depends on what she says.”

You were quiet for a beat. “You did hear me say she's a lesbian, right? Not bi, not halfway there, not in a playful mood. She’s not into guys!”

Kailani finally looked at you again. And for the first time in this whole exchange, she smiled—softly, with just a trace of something unreadable underneath.

“Yeah,” she said. “About that.”

You opened your mouth to ask what the hell that meant, but she was already sliding out of the booth, tucking her glass onto the tray she’d borrowed, and backing away toward the exit.

“Give me a day,” she said. “It might be nothing. But if it’s not? Be ready.”

Then she was gone—just the sound of the door swinging shut behind her, leaving you in the dim bar with your half-finished drink and the soft churn of thoughts that suddenly wouldn’t stop.

It wasn’t a fix. It wasn’t even a plan.

But for the first time all week, it wasn’t just you trying to solve this alone.

And maybe, just maybe, that meant something.