Unknown:
I’m going to kill someone.
I remember blinking at my screen like an idiot when I first read it.
Me:
I’m scared to ask who this is.
But also very curious.
Unknown:
Bailey?
Me:
Wrong number.
That should have been the end of it. A normal person would have said “oops, my bad” and moved on. But not her.
Unknown:
Oh. I guess you won’t help me hide the body then.
Me:
Are you joking or should I be concerned right now?
Unknown:
Relax. It’s a hypothetical murder.
Me:
Good. For a second I thought I was gonna have to turn you in.
Unknown:
Right. Because if I were actually a murderer, I’d totally text a confession to a random number.
I snorted so hard I almost choked on my protein shake. And before I knew it, we were still texting an hour later.
Then the next day.
And the next.
And somehow, two weeks later, I was still texting her.
It wasn’t just jokes anymore. We talked about real shit. Stupid childhood stories. Late-night confessions. Things we’d never admitted to anyone else.
But the one thing she refused to tell me? Her name.
I scroll down a little more, finding the texts.
Me:
We’ve been talking for a whole week now and you still won’t tell me your name?
