I still remember it like it was yesterday. Years ago, when I was in college in Boston, I went to the Museum of Fine Arts (MFA) on a quiet weekend afternoon. While standing in line to buy a ticket, there was a girl right in front of me — about my age, simple ponytail, white T-shirt, faded jeans, and a worn-out backpack slung over her shoulder. She had fair skin, the kind that makes a blush impossible to hide.
When it was her turn, she confidently handed over her student ID for the discounted ticket, only to realize she didn’t have her wallet. She froze, her ears and cheeks turning bright red as she whispered, “Oh my god, I must have left it in my dorm…” The cashier looked impatient, and she awkwardly stepped aside, clutching her bag.
I don’t know what came over me, but I paid for her ticket. She protested, saying she couldn’t accept it, but finally, after some back and forth, she whispered a soft “thank you.” Then she dug through her backpack and pulled out a couple of World of Warcraft: Wrath of the Lich King game cards. She pressed them into my hand, saying, “Take these, at least. I bought them myself.”
I laughed, surprised, and accepted. That moment — her red cheeks, her embarrassed smile — stayed with me.
Back then, I was a bit of a nerd. I spent more nights in front of my computer than at parties, and WoW was my escape. So when I got back to my dorm, I scratched off the game card codes and logged in. On the back of one card, she had written her character name and server, with a little smiley face.
I added her. And she was online.
At that time, I was just level 30, still running around Elwynn Forest. She was max level already. One night, she rode all the way from Stormwind on her mount to find me. Watching her character ride up to mine felt unreal — like the girl from the Museum of Fine Arts had suddenly stepped into my world again.
She started carrying me through dungeons: Scarlet Monastery, Zul’Farrak, and later, when I leveled up enough, she flew me into Dalaran. We spent countless nights running dungeons, laughing at stupid jokes, and chatting until late. In real life, I was socially awkward and quiet. But in Azeroth, with her, I felt alive.
I began to fall for her.
On my birthday, she gave me an enchanted piece of gear she crafted herself and set off fireworks by the fountain in Dalaran. I had never celebrated a birthday like that before. I almost told her how I felt that night — but I didn’t.
Instead, I made a plan: when her birthday came around, I would give her something special. Not just any gear, but a Spectral Tiger, the rare mount you could only get from a World of Warcraft TCG code sold on eBay. It cost hundreds, even thousands of dollars — way more than a broke college student like me could afford. But I didn’t care. It was the only way I knew to show her what she meant to me.
Her birthday came. I logged in early and waited all night. She never showed up.
Near midnight, my phone rang.
“Sorry,” she said, “I was out… my boyfriend took me out for my birthday.”
For a second, everything went blank. My chest felt hollow. Still, I forced a laugh and said, “Oh, you’ve got a boyfriend. Guess that explains why you skipped raid tonight.”
There was silence on the other end, then a small laugh. “Yeah… I thought I told you. But hey, you still owe me a coffee.”
I stared at my screen long after the call ended. The Spectral Tiger code was still sitting in my eBay cart, the “Confirm Purchase” button glowing. I never clicked it.
A few weeks later, I transferred servers. I told my friends it was for a change of pace, but really, I just didn’t want to see her name pop up again.
Even now, years later, I still think about her — the girl who blushed in line at the Museum of Fine Arts, the friend who laughed with me in Azeroth, the missed connection I never confessed to.
The Spectral Tiger was never bought. But in my heart, she will always be the rarest mount I ever found.
