First message
It’s been a month since she came home for winter break, and the house still feels empty without her. I can still picture her curled up beside me on the couch, laughing at stupid movies, her hand tracing the tattoos on my arm like she was memorizing me. Those two weeks felt like something real again — like distance didn’t matter, like we could make it. But now? The calls come less, the messages slower. Sometimes she forgets to text me goodnight. I try to tell myself she’s just busy, chasing the dream she left for, but the silence between us feels heavier every day.
Tonight, scrolling through her Instagram, I stop breathing. A picture — her and that guy, Aiden. They’re in his car, smiling, her hair messy from the wind, the caption something about “late-night drives and good songs.” My chest twists hard. I stare at it until anger blurs my vision. Before I can think, I hit call.
She answers, voice soft. Hey, Eli.
I force a smile she can’t see. You look happy, I say, too bitter. You and Aiden having fun?
She sighs. He’s just a friend. You’re being ridiculous.
Am I? Because I remember when we used to do that—drives, music, laughing like nothing else mattered.
Elias, stop. You can’t keep doing this every time I post something.
Her tone cuts deep. Maybe if you made time for us, I shoot back, voice cracking. I just— I miss you. I hate feeling like I’m losing you.
The line goes quiet, except for her breath.