I didn’t realize I was in love with Jessie until the night she brought her girlfriend to game night.
We’d known each other since we were six. Jessica—Jessie—was my best friend, my Player Two, my partner in crime through every awkward, nerdy phase of life. We traded Pokémon cards on the school bus, built epic forts in Minecraft, and co-led our D&D group through a campaign that spanned all of high school.
She was the person I called when my mom got sick. The person who made me laugh so hard I almost threw up when I bombed my first date. We knew each other better than anyone.
And I thought that was enough.
Until that night.
Her hand was on another girl’s knee.
I sat across from them, clutching my dice like they were a stress ball. Jessie had her short dark hair tucked behind one ear, her sleeve rolled up to show the tattoo she got last year—8-bit hearts running down her forearm. She looked effortlessly cool, as always. And her girlfriend, Riley, was everything I wasn’t: confident, gorgeous, someone who could probably parallel park on the first try.
I watched them laugh together, and something inside me cracked.
I wanted to be the one making Jessie laugh like that.
I wanted to be the one she looked at like that.
And the dumbest thought hit me: I wish I was her girlfriend.
Not like “I wish I was dating Jessie.” No, my brain jumped the tracks entirely. I wish I was a girl like Riley. I wish I was Jessie's girl.
It wasn’t rational. It wasn’t even coherent. It was just... longing.
So I did what any mature adult would do: I went home and poured my heart out to Stardew Valley. I made a new farm, named my character Morgan (no idea why, it just felt right), and married Abigail like I always do. Then I drank two Mountain Dews, stared at the ceiling at 2 a.m., and whispered to no one in particular:
"I wish I was Jessie's girl."
Nothing happened.
Or so I thought.
The changes were small at first. I barely noticed.
I woke up the next morning with softer skin, but I chalked it up to switching body wash. My hair seemed a little longer, but I figured I’d just missed a haircut. I was more emotional watching an anime ending, but, hey, Your Lie in April gets everyone, right?
But then, about a week later, Jessie and I were at our usual place—Pixel Beans Café—sharing a giant plate of nachos. She was telling me how she and Riley were planning a weekend hiking trip, and I was trying really hard to be supportive and not visibly jealous.
That’s when she squinted at me. “Dude… you look different.”
“Different how?” My heart started racing.
She tilted her head. “I dunno… softer? Like… your jawline, maybe? And your eyelashes are kinda… long?”
My stomach did a barrel roll. “Pfft, nah. You just haven’t seen me in daylight in a while.”
She laughed and dipped a chip in queso. “Fair. You’re like a cave gremlin.”
I forced a grin, but my brain was going haywire. Because I’d noticed other things, too. My chest was sensitive. My hips felt weirdly tight in my jeans. And the other day when I sneezed, I swear my voice hit a pitch that belonged in a magical girl anime.
That night, I stood in front of my bathroom mirror, shirtless. My chest wasn’t exactly flat anymore. It was subtle, but there was definite curve-age happening.
I googled everything from "hormonal imbalance" to "curse symptoms."
And then I remembered my stupid 2 a.m. wish.
I laughed. Like, full-blown maniac laughter. Because that was absurd. Wishes weren’t real. I was stressed. I was imagining things.
But part of me whispered: What if?
Weeks passed, and the changes didn’t stop.
My body hair thinned out. My waist narrowed. My butt… look, I’m not bragging, but it was phenomenal.
I bought looser hoodies, but I couldn’t hide the way my face was getting rounder, cuter. And my voice—God, my voice—was slowly turning into the kind of soft, slightly breathy tone that anime girls use when they say "senpai."
I was becoming… adorable.
I should have freaked out more. But the truth? Part of me liked it.
Okay, a big part of me liked it.
Because every time I looked in the mirror, I thought: Would Jessie find me cute like this?
I didn’t tell Jessie. I couldn’t. I just… leaned into it. Bit by bit.
I started calling myself Morgan online. It felt natural. Comfortable. Like slipping into a character I was meant to play. I tried makeup tutorials, just to "see how it worked." I dyed my hair pastel pink on a whim because Jessie once said she loved that color on girls.
It was like a game at first. Customizing my avatar.
But it didn’t feel like pretending. It felt like finding myself.
And every time Jessie complimented me—“Damn, your eyeliner’s on point” or “That skirt is cute as hell”—I felt like I’d won the final boss battle of life.
But there was a catch.
Riley.
They were getting serious. I could see it. Jessie was happy. And I loved her—I wanted her to be happy—but watching them together was killing me.
One night after game night, it all crashed down.
Jessie walked me to my car, and I was trying to be chill, but I felt like I was breaking apart inside.
“You okay, Morgs?” Her voice was gentle. She always called me Morgs now. I loved it.
I smiled, but my eyes were burning. “Yeah… just tired.”
She stepped closer, concerned. “You sure? You’ve seemed kinda… distant.”
I couldn’t hold it in.
“I’m in love with you,” I blurted.
She froze. “What?”
I panicked. “I mean—uh—hypothetically! Like, in a fanfic! Haha, what if, right?”
Her eyes softened. “Morgan…”
Tears slipped down my cheeks. “I don’t care if I’m a guy or a girl or whatever. I just… I love you, Jessie. I always have.”
Silence.
Then, she pulled me into a hug. “Oh, Morgs…”
My heart was racing. “I know it’s dumb. You have Riley, and you’re happy, and I just—”
“She dumped me last week,” Jessie whispered.
“What?”
Jessie sniffled. “She said I was too much of a nerd. Who even says that? I was gonna tell you tonight, but… I didn’t want to ruin game night.”
I stared at her. “Jessie… you’re the best person I know. Anyone who doesn’t see that is a moron.”
She smiled, but her eyes were sad. “Yeah… but I don’t know if I’ll ever find someone who really gets me.”
I took her hand, heart pounding. “You already have.”
That night changed everything.
Jessie didn’t kiss me right away. We were both scared—figuring things out. But we started spending even more time together. Holding hands. Cuddling during movie marathons.
And as I fully became Morgan—petite, pink-haired, undeniably Jessie’s type—I realized this was who I was always meant to be.
One night, after a heated Mario Kart tournament, she finally kissed me. Soft and slow. I almost dropped my controller.
When we pulled apart, she whispered, “You’re so cute.”
I blushed like an anime protagonist. “Shut up.”
She grinned. “No. You’re my cute girlfriend now. Deal with it.”
And I did.
Six Months Later:
I sat across from Jessie at Pixel Beans Café, wearing her hoodie because I’d “borrowed” it and she never got it back. She reached over, tucking a strand of pink hair behind my ear.
“You look perfect,” she said.
I smiled. “I feel perfect.”
Because I was.
I was Jessie's girl.
And nothing had ever felt more right.
End.