The morning light filtering through my dorm room window did little to chase away the darkness that had taken up residence in my chest. It had been twelve hours since Eli had gone silent. Twelve hours after our phone call, his whispered "I love you too" had filled the silence between us.
I'd checked my phone obsessively through the night, my sleep disrupted by the need to see his name on my screen, to know that he was okay, that we were okay. But there was nothing—no messages, no calls, no indication that he was even alive.
My first class was cognitive psychology, a subject that usually fascinated me. Today, I couldn't focus. The professor's words washed over me, a meaningless drone of terminology and theories that I couldn't seem to retain. All I could think about was Eli—about the sound of his voice, the sight of his face, the feel of his skin against mine.
Jonah: Morning. Just checking in. Hope you're okay.
Jonah: About to head to my stats class. Thinking of you.
Jonah: Just got out of class. Everything okay?
Jonah: Eli, please answer me. I'm starting to worry.
The three dots indicating he was typing never appeared. The screen remained stubbornly, terrifyingly blank. I sent another message, my thumbs flying across the screen with a desperate urgency.
Jonah: Did I say something wrong? Was last night too much? Just talk to me. Please.
Nothing.
My stats class was a blur of numbers and formulas that made no sense. I sat in the back, my phone hidden under the desk, refreshing our conversation every thirty seconds. Each time, the lack of new messages sent a fresh wave of anxiety through me. My leg bounced uncontrollably, a frantic rhythm that matched the pounding of my heart. The professor, a stern woman with glasses perched on the end of her nose, paused her lecture to shoot me a disapproving look, but I couldn't bring myself to care.
I fled the moment the class ended, my need for solitude overwhelming. I found a quiet corner of the quad and sank onto a bench, the autumn sun doing nothing to warm the chill that had seeped into my bones.
Jonah: Eli, I'm really starting to freak out here. I know you're probably busy, but could you just send one word? Anything? "Okay"? "Fine"? Just let me know you're there.
I stared at the screen, willing it to light up. When it didn't, a wave of nausea hit me. What if he regretted it? What if the "I love you" had scared him off? What if last night, the intimacy and the vulnerability, had been too much, too soon?
"Hey man, you okay?"
I looked up to see Mark standing over me, his brow furrowed with concern. "You look like you've seen a ghost."
"I'm fine," I lied, my voice hoarse.
"You've been staring at your phone like it holds the secrets to the universe all day," he observed, sitting down beside me. "And you missed half the stats lecture. That's not like you."
I sighed, running a hand through my already disheveled hair. "It's Eli. He's... not answering me."
"How long?"
"Since last night," I admitted, the words tasting like ash in my mouth. "We had this... moment. And then nothing."
Mark was quiet for a moment, processing. "Did you two have a fight?"
"Not exactly. More like the opposite. It was... intense. Good intense. I told him I loved him."
Mark's eyes widened slightly. "Whoa. That's... big."
"Yeah. And he said it back. Or, he texted it back. And then... silence. For twelve hours."
"Maybe he's just busy," Mark suggested, though he didn't sound convinced. "School, basketball, family stuff..."
"I know," I said, my frustration mounting. "But it's not like him. He always answers. Always. This silence... it's deafening."
My phone buzzed, and I nearly dropped it in my haste to check the screen. It wasn't Eli. It was Luis.
Luis: Yo, you coming to lunch? We're hitting the dining hall.
Me: Can't. Not hungry.
Luis: Dude, you gotta eat. You skipped breakfast.
I ignored the message, my focus returning to the silent conversation with Eli.
Jonah: Please, Eli. I'm going out of my mind here. Just give me something. Anything.
"Jonah," Mark said gently, placing a hand on my shoulder. "You need to breathe. You're spiraling."
"I can't," I choked out, the words catching in my throat. "What if I've ruined everything? What if I pushed him too far?"
"Hey," he said, his tone firm but kind. "You can't control his reaction. All you can do is be honest about how you feel. You did that. The rest is up to him."
"I know," I whispered, my vision blurring with unshed tears. "But it doesn't make this any easier."
"You need to get your mind off it," Mark advised. "Come to lunch with us. Or let's go shoot some hoops. Anything but sitting here staring at your phone."
"I can't," I insisted. "What if he messages and I miss it?"
"Jonah," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Give me your phone."
"What? No."
"Give it to me," he repeated, holding out his hand. "For one hour. We'll go grab lunch, walk around campus, whatever. If he messages, I'll tell you immediately. I promise."
Reluctantly, I placed the phone in his outstretched hand, my fingers trembling as I let it go. It felt like a part of me was being torn away.
"Okay," I agreed, my voice barely above a whisper. "One hour."
Lunch was a torture of forced smiles and mindless conversation. I picked at my food, my appetite gone, my eyes constantly flicking to Mark's pocket where my phone resided. Every time he shifted, my heart leaped into my throat, hoping he was reaching for it.
"Relax," Luis said, noticing my agitation. "He's fine. Probably just got grounded or something."
"Or he's changing his number," I muttered, pushing my tray away.
"Or that," Luis conceded, backing off.
The hour crawled by. When Mark finally handed my phone back, my heart was pounding. I looked at the screen, my breath catching in my throat. Nothing. Not a single notification.
The relief I'd been hoping for never came. Instead, a cold dread settled in the pit of my stomach.
"Sorry, man," Mark said, his expression sympathetic. "Maybe he's just busy."
"Yeah," I mumbled, though I didn't believe it for a second. Something was wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
As I walked back to my dorm, the phone felt heavy in my hand, a silent testament to my growing fear. I sent one last message, a desperate plea into the void.
Jonah: Eli, I'm scared. Please talk to me.