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I couldn't believe what I was seeing. A smile formed on my lips, uninvited, before I even realized it.
Unknown Number:
Hey,
It's Samantha.
Where did she get my number?
My mind spun. Before I could even finish that thought, another message popped up. Almost instantly.
Unknown Number:
I got your number from my brother. I wanted to see how you're doing.
Her brother? How the hell did he even have my number? I knew he and Sandy were friends somehow, but I don't remember ever giving it to him—or even talking to him.
Wait—was I turning into her, or was she turning into me? That line between us was starting to blur, and I wasn't sure I liked it. Why else would she borrow my number just to check up on me? I wouldn't do that for just anyone. So why is she doing it for me? Why does she care?
My phone vibrated again, lighting up the room in the dark.
Unknown Number:
Sorry for texting this late. I thought you might be up.
I checked the time. 3:02 a.m. She wasn't wrong—I was still awake, staring at my ceiling, trying not to think.
Shit. Five minutes had already passed since her message. I typed quickly before I could overthink.
Me:
Hey, I'm still up.
Her reply came almost immediately.
Unknown Number:
Oh… thank God!
I could almost feel her relief through the screen. My lips curled into a small smile, uninvited again. Just as I was about to type something, those three dots appeared—she was already typing.
Unknown Number:
I was starting to regret texting at this hour.
Me:
Why are you up this late?
If I remembered correctly, she once mentioned she was the type who slept early. Like, "9 p.m. and don't bother me" early.
Unknown Number:
I just got home.
Me:
Right now?
I glanced at the clock again. 3:07 a.m. What was she doing out that late?
Me:
Is everything okay?
There was a longer pause this time. The typing bubble appeared, disappeared, then appeared again.
Unknown Number:
I'm fine. I just had an argument with a certain dickhead and had to leave.
My stomach twisted.
Me:
Oh, I'm sorry.
The words looked too simple, too small for what I was feeling. My heart ached as I imagined her upset, walking home alone under the cold streetlights.
Me:
Do you wanna talk about it?
I hesitated after sending it. It felt bold, maybe too much. But I hoped she'd take the offer anyway. It sounded like there was more behind her words than she wanted to say.
Unknown Number:
No. But thanks—maybe another time.
A knot formed in my chest. Didn't she trust me enough to tell me what happened? Or was I just reading too much into everything?
Then her next message came.
Unknown Number:
Thanks for texting back. I needed someone to talk to.
My eyes lingered on that last line.
She needed someone. And she chose me?
That was new. People didn't usually need me. They avoided me, whispered when I walked by, kept their distance. So when someone reached out, it meant something.
Me:
No worries. That's what friends are for.
Shit. Did I just say friends?
I was about to delete it, but then—three dots. She was typing. No going back now.
Unknown Number:
So we're friends now, huh?
I could picture her smirking, the playful lift of her eyebrow. My cheeks burned. Thank God she wasn't here to see it.
Me:
Of course. What else would you call us?
I tried to sound casual. Like my heart wasn't racing.
Unknown Number:
Nice to know I'm not the only one who sees it that way.
I exhaled slowly, relief washing over me. I hadn't ruined it—whatever it was.
Unknown Number:
Did you talk to Sandy yet?
The mention of her name made my stomach clench. I hadn't heard from Sandy since the argument. No texts. No calls. Nothing.
If she could talk to Sam's brother, why couldn't she call me? Was she avoiding me? Maybe I'd finally shown her who I really was—and she didn't like what she saw.
My thumb hovered over the keyboard as my thoughts drifted back.
It was my first day at her school—midyear transfer, total outsider. During lunch, Sandy had come over, bright smile and all, asking if I wanted to sit with her and her friends.
"Mind your own business, bitch. Who told you I can't find a place to sit?" I'd spat before shoving past her. She fell, her tray crashing to the floor. Everyone laughed.
I remember the look on her face—shock, embarrassment, maybe even hurt. But I didn't say a word. I just walked away.
A week later, I saw her again. This time, she was cornered by a couple of students from my class, and something in me snapped. I didn't even think—I just stepped in and made sure they never touched her again. The fight was messy. Loud. Half the school saw it. But I didn't care.
When it was over, I took her hand and pulled her out of there. She followed without a word, still wide-eyed.
That was how it started.
Every day after that, she'd find me. She'd complain about her teachers—about how her math teacher hated her, how her science teacher "definitely had a crush on her." It was ridiculous, but she always made me laugh.
No one messed with her after that. Everyone was scared of me. And honestly, I didn't mind. As long as she was safe.
But now… I'd probably lost her. And I didn't know how to fix it.
Me:
No. I'll try calling her mom tomorrow.
My eyes burned as I typed. I blinked hard, refusing to let tears fall. What was wrong with me lately? I hadn't cried this much since my grandparents left.
Unknown Number:
Okay.
Just one word. But it still felt like comfort.
I hesitated before typing again. I didn't want the conversation to end.
Me:
So what are you up to tomorrow that you can't take me back-to-school shopping?
As soon as I sent it, I regretted it. Too much. Too clingy.
Unknown Number:
I'm hanging out with Ruby. She's been complaining I've abandoned her.
I chuckled, feeling some of the heaviness lift.
Me:
Okay. Have fun then.
Unknown Number:
Thanks. You too—but not too much fun though.
I smirked.
Me:
Why? Afraid I might forget about you?
Unknown Number:
Nope. No amount of fun could make you forget me. Didn't you say you could never forget my face?
My heart skipped a beat. She remembered that?
Me:
Stop being so full of yourself. You'd be surprised how fast I could forget you.
Unknown Number:
Ouch. That hurts.
I froze. My chest tightened instantly. The thought of actually hurting her—even as a joke—made my stomach twist.
Me:
Sorry. I was joking.
Message sent.
Unread.
The little "delivered" mark sat there mockingly. My pulse quickened.
One minute passed. Then two. Then five.
Still nothing.
Did she take it seriously?
I stared at the screen, her number burning into my eyes. The silence between messages felt louder than any argument.
I wanted to send another text—something funny, something that would make her smile again—but I stopped myself.
Maybe she'd fallen asleep. Or maybe she was just done talking.
Either way, I couldn't help but feel the same old ache crawl back in.
The one that always came when people left.
And somehow, even through a glowing screen, I could already feel the distance growing.
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