Page 56 of A Curvy Girl’s Hurricane Survival Guide

“Silent Knights is set in 1940s Europe,” Rey explains as the game loads. “Espionage, mystery, heavy RPG elements. But the storytelling is on another level. Your choices actually matter. Loads of branching paths, multiple endings, the works.”

I braced myself for flashing lights and gore. Instead, I am dropped into a beautifully rendered, atmospheric world of wartime Europe. I create my character, Alice, and start playing.

It isn’t what I expected at all.

When I mention to Rey that I don’t want to kill anyone, he just shrugs and says, “Then don’t.” So I don’t.

I solve puzzles in candlelit safe houses, decode secret messages, treat wounded soldiers in makeshift hospitals, and slowly unravel a heartbreaking story of star-crossed lovers caught on opposite sides of the war.

At one pivotal moment, I watch a German soldier, someone who’s been carrying on with a local girl I’ve worked with and grown to care about, stare at her lifeless body, not able to expose their secret love. He stays silent, torn between duty and grief. The scene is quiet, devastating, and achingly human.

My throat tightens. Tears slip down my cheeks before I even realize it.

“Are you… crying?” Rey asks, half-amused, half-impressed.

“Well, I have been staring at this screen for hours.” I quickly wipe my face. “But yeah, I got more invested than I thought I would.”

Rey grins. “Told you it was good.”

“It’s beautiful,” I whisper. “I thought games were all violence and addiction. I had no idea they could feel like this.”

Shame twists in my stomach as I remember every dismissive, snide comment I’ve made about “man-children” and “loser gamers.” I’ve been so loud, so certain. And I said those things right in front of Sonny.

“He won’t hold it against you,” Rey says gently. “Not once he sees you actually tried. That you cared enough to understand his world.”

I hope he’s right.

We play for several more hours. The family drifts in and out, bringing plates of food, shouting updates about flight times, and occasionally peeking over my shoulder to cheer when I solve a tricky puzzle.

At one point, my nephew Lucas plops down beside me and narrates the lore like a sports commentator. He also explains to me about the Con and what to expect in terms of cosplayers and atmosphere. It gives me an idea, and I make a mental note to talk to Alex about it later.

Even Dad wanders in, commenting that “these graphics are better than the movies these days.”

By the time I’ve put down the controller, the sun has set, I have finished the main storyline, and unlocked three different endings. I sit back, feeling something shift inside me.

Rey notices. “You okay?”

“I was wrong,” I say quietly. “About all of it. I thought this was just… a hobby. But it’s art. It’s stories. It’s the same thing I’ve always wanted to do with writing.”

Rey smiles, soft and proud. “Now you get to tell him that.”

Later that night, the family gathers again for the grand-gesture portion of the plan. I give them my idea and explain the reference from when I first met Sonny. The kids cheer. Abuela claps like it’s the best idea she’s ever heard. Alex immediately starts writing sign ideas on a notepad.

“It has to be big,” Lucas insists. “Like, huge poster board. With glitter. And maybe some cocuyos drawn on it for luck.”

“Glitter is non-negotiable,” my sister agrees.

I laugh, nerves and hope twisting together in my stomach. “You guys really think this could work?”

Mom squeezed my hand. “Mija, you showed up on a plane during a hurricane for the wrong man. Now you’re showing up for the right one. Of course it’s going to work.”

By midnight, the living room floor is covered in poster board, markers, and half-finished signs. I practice my speech out loud while Alex curls my hair and Abuela feeds me spoonfuls of arroz con leche “for strength.”

The next morning, I stand in the airport security line with a carry-on, a giant rolled-up poster board, and a heart that feels too big for my chest.

I still haven’t memorized my speech.

But for the first time in a long time, I’m not running away from the things that I’m embarrassed about.