Daily Love Roulette System

2 - Anya, the Ice Queen

The cafeteria light hummed with a sound that felt suspiciously like a countdown. Fajar stared at his phone, his pulse drumming against his eardrums. Professor Halloway was still hovering by the entrance, looking like a vulture in a tweed jacket.

Suddenly, the air shimmered.

[ MANDATORY QUEST INITIATED ]

[ OBJECTIVE: Act as Anya’s boyfriend for the next twenty minutes. ]

[ TIME REMAINING: 59:58 ]

[ PENALTY FOR FAILURE: Total social suicide (System will broadcast your search history to the university loudspeaker). ]

"No. Absolutely not," Fajar whispered, his voice cracking. "That’s a felony. That’s a digital hate crime!"

He looked up. Anya was three tables away, currently being cornered by a guy with a frat bro tank top and a grin that screamed ‘toxic.’

"Come on, Anya, just one drink. My boys are waiting," the frat bro said, leaning way too close.

"I’m busy, Kyle. And I’m uninterested. In that order," Anya replied, her voice cold enough to freeze nitrogen.

"Playing hard to get? I like that."

Fajar felt the System’s neon light pulse in his periphery. He didn't have a choice. He stood up, his knees shaking, and marched toward them.

"Babe! There you are!" Fajar bellowed, his voice jumping an octave.

Anya froze. The frat bro turned, looking Fajar up and down with utter contempt. "Who is this?"

Fajar slid into the space between them, draping an arm around Anya’s shoulders. He felt her stiffen instantly. "I’m the guy who’s been waiting for her to finish her organic chem prep. Right, honey-bunch?"

Anya stared at him. Her eyes were a dark, unreadable brown. "Honey-bunch?"

"It’s our... private thing," Fajar stammered, sweating buckets. "You know. The thing."

Kyle laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You’re kidding, right? This guy? Anya, you have better taste than a guy who looks like he buys his clothes from a lost-and-found bin."

Fajar tightened his grip on Anya’s shoulder, his heart hammering against his ribs like a panicked animal. "Watch your mouth, man. We’re in a committed, deep-soul connection phase of our relationship."

Anya leaned back, her gaze darting to the neon-blue screen only she couldn't see. She looked at Fajar, then at Kyle, a smirk playing on her lips. "Actually, he’s right. We’re in a... very intense phase."

Fajar blinked. She’s playing along?

"You’re serious?" Kyle stepped back, disgusted. "Whatever. You’re missing out, Anya."

Kyle stomped off. Fajar immediately dropped his arm, stepping back as if he’d touched a live wire.

"You," Anya said, her voice dropping to a dangerous, low register. "Are going to explain exactly why you just committed social suicide for a stranger."

"I could tell you, but then I’d have to... uh... die," Fajar said, looking around to make sure no one was listening. "Look, thanks for that. You saved my life."

"Saved your life? You were acting like a lunatic. 'Honey-bunch'? Really?"

"I panicked! The pressure was immense!"

Anya leaned in, her eyes narrowed. "You didn't just panic. You were terrified of something behind me. That screen you were staring at?"

Fajar felt his stomach drop. "What screen? I was just... checking my stock portfolio."

"You don't own stocks, Fajar. I’ve seen you eating cereal with a fork because you were too lazy to wash a spoon."

Fajar stopped dead. "How do you know that?"

"You sit in the back of the lecture hall. You’re hard to miss when you’re constantly vibrating with anxiety."

"I don't vibrate! I... resonate!"

Anya let out a short, incredulous laugh. "You’re a weirdo. But whatever. You played the part. Kyle’s gone."

"Yeah, about that. We have like, fifteen more minutes. Can we just sit? Maybe look like we’re having a deep, romantic conversation about… molecules?"

Anya sat down, crossing her arms. "Fine. But you’re buying me a coffee. The expensive one. With the oat milk."

"Done. Anything for my, uh, girlfriend."

"Don't push it."

Fajar rushed to the counter and back, his hands shaking as he placed the cup in front of her. He sat down, trying to look natural.

"So," Fajar said, his voice forced. "Do you come here often?"

Anya stared at him over the rim of the cup. "We are in the same department, Fajar. We share three classes. Do you ever actually look at anyone else, or are you too busy 'resonating'?"

"I’m observant! I noticed you have a pen collection."

"I have two pens."

"They're very nice pens."

Anya sighed, a hint of a smile tugging at the corner of her mouth. "You are literally the most pathetic person I’ve ever met. Why are you doing this? Was it a dare? Did your friends put you up to this?"

"No friends. Just... bad luck."

"You’re hiding something."

"I'm not!"

"You are. You’ve checked your watch or that 'empty air' in front of you exactly six times in the last two minutes."

Fajar felt a cold sweat break out on his neck. "I have a time-management issue."

"You have a secret-keeping issue." She stood up suddenly, grabbing her bag. "Time’s up. You’re off the clock, 'honey-bunch'."

Fajar scrambled to his feet. "Wait! We have to keep up the charade until the timer hits zero! If someone sees us stop now, the whole narrative arc collapses!"

Anya stopped, her back to him. She turned, her expression unreadable. "What narrative arc?"

"The... campus romance drama? You know, the one where the guy in the hoodie gets the girl?"

Anya walked right up to him, invading his personal space. He could smell her shampoo—something like vanilla and old library books. His heart rate soared.

[ WARNING: Heart rate at 160 BPM. ]

"You’re shaking," she whispered. "And you’re lying to me."

"I'm not."

"Fajar," she said, her voice dropping to a whisper that made his skin prickle. "How did you know about the project?"

Fajar blinked. "What project?"

"The one I’m working on. The encrypted server. The one that’s been sending weird, blue-light pings to every device in this building for the last twenty-four hours."

Fajar froze. His phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, and the screen wasn't a normal notification—it was a message from the System.

[ TARGET REVEALED: Anya is not a stranger. She is the Architect. ]

Fajar’s world tilted. "The Architect?"

Anya leaned in, her eyes glinting with a sudden, sharp intelligence. "You’ve been playing your little game, Fajar. But I think it’s time you tell me who authorized your access to my interface."

Fajar looked at her, then at the empty air where his missions appeared. "You... you can see them too?"

Anya gripped his collar, pulling him toward the exit. "Out. Now. We’re going to talk, and if you lie to me again, I’m going to make sure your next 'mandatory quest' is to jump off the clock tower."

Fajar didn't resist. He stumbled after her, his heart racing not from the System, but from the sudden, terrifying realization that he was no longer the only player in the game.

"So," Fajar panted as they pushed through the double doors into the cool autumn air. "Does this mean we're still dating?"

Anya spun around, pinning him against the brick wall of the student union. "You don't get to joke, Fajar. Start talking. How long have you been a user?"

Fajar looked into her eyes, seeing the same frantic, trapped light he’d felt inside himself for the last twenty-four hours. "Since yesterday. And I think... I think I’m losing my mind."

Anya’s expression softened, just for a second, before turning back into steel. "You’re not losing your mind. You’re being recruited. And you have no idea what you just signed up for."