Much Ado About Nothing

Note: This was written in response to a (self-imposed) TikTok writing challenge. The prompts were selected by Jessica Rodrigue and are as follows: fantasy + enemies to lovers + "fact 17 about this story: nothing happens in it."

This is a raw draft, though edited for grammar and understandability. This was a fantasy story in my head when I started writing it, but I never got to the part with the magical shark. But I’ll rewrite this in time! You're welcome to critique, as well as send in prompts for future stories. Or you can also write your own story based on the same prompts. (Thanks, Jessica!)

Fact number 17 about this story: nothing happens in it.

But of course, you think there can't not be nothing. Something is bound to happen to two people stranded on a deserted island, after all. God, please. Can't people get stranded on deserted islands normally anymore, without the expectation of either hooking up, or succumbing to the call of cannibalism?

Anyway, he comes back with a pile of wood in his arms and lays them down at my feet in offering. I lean forward, inspecting his haul piece by piece. Fact number 18: the sticks are evenly cut. They're not merely twigs and branches that have broken off from the trees. The people behind this aren't even trying. "How did you-" I start to ask, and he answers me with a disarming smile.

Fact number 19: I hate that smile. Plenty girls are crazy about it, but I'm not. His teeth aren't even perfectly lined up or as pearly white as countless toothpaste ads have promised.

"Barter." I could almost hear the roll of his eyes. He's not buying the charade either, though he and I both know we don't really have a choice in the matter but to play along.

Then he adds, with a cheeky grin, "They won't take Mastercard."

Fact number 20: he thinks he's funny. He isn't.

I don't give his ego the chance to be satisfied about anything I might accidentally display on my face. He's definitely the type who knows how to turn a story around, including a grimace or a sigh of exasperation. So I ignore him, slipping into a crouch to light our fire. And there's fact number 21: I'm not very good at it. It's not as easy as our science teachers and action heroes make it appear.

He notices soon enough, because the next thing I know he's holding my hands, trying to guide them through the process.

"You couldn't get a lighter?"

He heaves a melodramatic sigh, before grinning at me again. "They wanted my shirt for it." Like that would've been so terrible.

Fact number 22: he's not bad-looking. Unfortunately, he happens to know it too.

I extract my hands from his and pretend to rearrange the dried grass and bark in our tinder pile, leaving him to continue with the miserable task of starting a fire with sticks. Before he could catch me watching him, I avert my gaze to the beach, watching for other signs of life. I haven't seen any yet, not since the whole game - no, "Mandatory Summer Teambuilding Event of 2022" - was launched after lunch by no less than our Gen Z TikToker CEO. It's almost like a virtual escape room, only we're roleplaying the trapped on a deserted island part. Maybe the other pairs are just as miserable as we are.

Although he doesn't seem miserable at all, whistling and humming as he coaxes a fire to life. Fact number 23: even nature is charmed by him. It has to be the only reason he manages to light a fire when I couldn't.

"We should head back," I tell him, irritated. Or bored. Same difference.

He agrees, and we sail toward the sunset on the CEO's jetski.

The end.

Oh, come on! Don't look at me like that. I've already told you, nothing happens in this story. Just two people having pretendy fun times on a beach, sipping piña coladas while watching the sun set, and maybe kissing in the rain.

Fact number 24: I have poor memory, so I don't really remember.

E N D