I have her number now.
I could text her.
I shouldn’t.
I am absolutely going to.
I unlock my phone.
Her name looks wrong on the screen, too plain, too simple.
I changed it.
Ruby Quinn→Ruby.
Better.
I open a new message.
I should write something formal, professional, respectable, even.
Instead, my thumbs type what I actually want to say.
Me:
Did you get home safely?
I hit send before I could rethink it.
The message delivers instantly.
I wait.
One second.
Five seconds.
Twenty.
A full minute.
Nothing.
I shouldn’t care.
But I do.
I stand, pacing slowly across the room. The floor-to-ceiling windows reflect back a version of me I barely recognize, sleeves rolled again, hair pushed back from running my hands through it too many times, jaw tense with something too close to longing.
I don’t do longing.
I don’t chase.
I don’tneed.
Except… apparently I do now.
My phone buzzes.
