Date six happens at a nice Italian place that lissa picks. Not too fancy, but nicer than chain restaurants. The kind of place where the pasta is homade and the waiter actually knows the nu.
"To expansion," lissa says, raising her wine glass. We're celebrating the shop lease signing.
"To expansion," I echo, clinking glasses.
Dinner flows easily. It always does with her. We've found this rhythm over five dates—conversation that bounces between serious and silly, comfortable silences, the kind of chemistry where you finish sentences that don't need finishing.
She tells about a design project that's going well. I tell her about Sheldon's demolition safety protocols that include literal PowerPoint presentations. She laughs, asks if my friends are always this extra.
"Always. It's part of their charm."
"They care about you. That's obvious."
"Yeah. I'm lucky."
"You keep saying that. About the shop, about friends, about—" She pauses, looking at over her wine glass. "—?"
"Especially about you."
Her smile could power cities. We hold eye contact for one of those monts that feels suspended, like the universe is waiting to see what happens next.
"Stuart." She reaches across the table, takes my hand. "I really like you. Like, really like you. And I want to make sure we're on the sa page about... this."
"This being...?"
"Us. Dating. Whatever we're calling it."
My heart hamrs. "I'm calling it dating soone I really like and want to keep seeing."
"Good. too." She squeezes my hand. "So, official? Like, boyfriend-girlfriend official?"
"I thought we already were?"
"We were boyfriend-girlfriend adjacent. Now we're official." She's grinning, teasing but also genuinely happy.
"Official sounds perfect."
We finish dinner in this glowing bubble of new relationship energy. Walking to her car afterward, she slips her hand into mine naturally. No hesitation. Just fits.
"Want to et my friends?" she asks. "Like, properly et them. Not just briefly at the shop."
"Yeah, absolutely."
"Fair warning—they're going to interrogate you. They've been asking about 'comic shop guy' for weeks."
"I survived eting Sheldon. I can handle your friends."
"You vastly underestimate my friends' interrogation techniques."
The following Wednesday, I bring lissa to pizza night.
She's nervous—I can tell from the way she keeps adjusting her jacket—but she hides it well. The gang's already there when we arrive, mid-debate about sothing physics-related that I don't understand.
"Guys," I announce. "This is lissa. My girlfriend."
Girlfriend. The word feels good. Real.
"Finally," Howard says. "We've heard so much about you."
"All good things, I hope?"
"Stuart tends toward excessive positivity when describing people he's romantically interested in," Sheldon says. "However, his descriptions were factually accurate."
"That's... thank you?"
Leonard imdiately puts her at ease, asking about her design work. Raj offers her pizza, explaining the topping distribution system they've developed. Even Sheldon engages, asking about the intersection of graphic design and visual storytelling in comics.
She keeps up beautifully. Laughs at Howard's jokes, calls out Sheldon when his logic gets circular, listens to Raj's tangents about Indian cinema's influence on visual composition.
"You're doing great," I whisper during a lull.
"They're wonderful. Weird, but wonderful."
"Welco to my life."
Around nine, Penny stops by to return sothing to Leonard—I'm still not clear what, the excuse seems flimsy—and ends up staying for pizza. She and lissa hit it off imdiately, talking about acting and auditioning and the bizarre ecosystem of trying to make it in LA.
Leonard watches them chat with this complicated expression. I catch his eye, raise an eyebrow in question. He just shakes his head slightly.
Still hung up on Penny, then.
After everyone leaves, lissa and I walk to her car in the warm November night.
"That was perfect," she says. "Your friends are exactly as advertised. Sheldon's as intense as you said. Howard's funnier than I expected. Raj is sweet. Leonard's nice but kind of sad?"
"Unrequited crush situation. He'll figure it out."
"And Penny's gorgeous but seems genuine. Not LA fake."
"Yeah, she's good people."
We reach her car. She turns to , backing against the driver's door, pulling closer by my jacket.
"I had a really good ti tonight."
" too."
"eting friends is a relationship milestone, you know. Very official."
"Good thing we're official then."
She kisses —longer and deeper than our previous goodnight kisses. When we finally pull apart, she's grinning.
"Text when you get ho."
"Always do."
Driving back to my apartnt, I think about how far I've co. Three months ago, the idea of having a girlfriend was laughable. Now lissa's integrated into my friend group, they love her, she loves them. Everything's clicking into place.
The powers worked exactly as described. Each success—the shop, the investnts, the friendships—built confidence that made the next success easier. And now I'm in a relationship that feels healthy, happy, normal.
Normal.
The word catches. Because nothing about this is normal. My confidence ca from supernatural advantages. My financial security from impossible future knowledge. Even my social ease is powered by abilities that shouldn't exist.
But the relationship itself? The connection with lissa? That's real. Has to be.
I choose to believe that. Have to believe it, or else what's the point of any of this?
My phone buzzes: lissa: Ho safe. Thanks for tonight. Your friends are keepers.
Stuart: So are you.
lissa: Smooth. See you Saturday?
Stuart: Wouldn't miss it.
I fall asleep that night feeling settled. Anchored. Like all the pieces are finally fitting together into sothing resembling a life worth living.
The shop's expanding. The investnts are paying off. The friends are solid. The girlfriend is wonderful.
For the first ti since dying and waking up in Stuart's body, I'm not just surviving.
I'm thriving.
And maybe—just maybe—I deserve it.
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