Before Counter-Strike became part of my life, I met her through Minecraft. I was in middle school, and she was a little older. We both came from single-parent families, and we talked openly about school, home, and what we hoped the future would become.
Later, a friend introduced me to Counter-Strike. I started spending more time there, and gradually stopped playing Minecraft with her. I visited Shenzhen twice and remember going with her to Window of the World and Huaqiangbei. The last of those meetings became the last time we saw each other.
When I mentioned Counter-Strike afterward, I assumed she would not want to try such a demanding game. Looking back, that was my prejudice rather than something I knew about her. I wish I had invited her and kept making time to talk.
By the time I wrote the original post, I had spent almost 600 hours in CS and met many people, yet the friendship stayed with me. Moving to the United States did not erase what Shenzhen meant. We had been able to share worries and hopes without pretending everything was fine, and I missed that openness.
She used to send jokes and little expressions that made a difficult day easier. I cannot know how things would have unfolded if I had acted differently, and I do not want to turn regret into certainty about another person’s life. I can only remember the happiness in the time we shared.
Later, I named an in-game item with a line about love, dreams, and carrying her name. It became a small way of holding on to a memory. A game can contain much more than wins and losses when it is tied to people we cared about.
Adapted from the original Chinese article, published on July 19, 2025.
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