The Riddle of Jade's Eyes

Alex adjusted his thrifted bomber jacket for the tenth time, checking his reflection in the darkened window. The bass from Tyler's house party vibrated through the pavement. This was it — the night he'd finally talk to Jade, the girl whose Instagram stories he'd been lowkey stalking since September. Yeah, he was basically a professional spy at this point. He knew she liked vanilla oat milk lattes, had a sphinx cat named Cleo (ironic, he knew), and listened to The Cure when she was sad.

But watching from a distance was easy. Being within three feet of her? That was different.

He shouldered through the front door, immediately hit by the smell of cheap cologne and spilled fruit punch. There she was — Jade, leaning against the kitchen counter, laughing at something some basketball player said. Her eyes were like sphinx eyes, ancient and knowing, like she could see straight through his nervous facade.

"Hey, Alex!" Tyler slapped his back, nearly spilling his red solo cup. "Glad you made it. Having fun?"

"Yeah, totally," Alex lied. His palms were sweating. Why was this so hard?

And then Jade turned.

Their eyes met across the crowded kitchen. For three eternal seconds, nobody else existed. Then she raised her cup in a tiny salute, like she'd been watching him too.

Wait. Had she been watching him?

His phone buzzed in his pocket. A DM from Jade: "U gonna talk to me or just bear witness from the corner all night? 😉"

Alex almost dropped his phone. She knew. She'd been watching him watching her.

The riddle he'd been trying to solve all semester — Jade Chen, sphinx of sophomore year — wasn't a mystery at all. She was just waiting for him to make a move.

He took a breath, squared his shoulders, and walked across the kitchen.