NumberEleven: i have a reputation to protect.
Warmth blooms in my chest again.
LittleTooMuch: Ok, ok. What’d you do today?
NumberEleven: couple lectures. tried to pretend i wasn’t half zombie.
I laugh quietly.
A beat.
NumberEleven: you doing ok on campus?
My fingers still.
I choose the truth that won’t make me feel exposed.
LittleTooMuch: It’s a lot, but I’m trying.
NumberEleven: trying counts.
My chest squeezes again—annoying and warm.
Curiosity curls up in me like a cat.
LittleTooMuch: You ever get curious about people? Like…you meet someone once and your brain won’t stop asking questions.
A beat—long enough that I regret sending it.
Then—
NumberEleven: yeah.
NumberEleven: curiosity is dangerous though.
My stomach tightens.
LittleTooMuch: Why dangerous?
Three dots appear, then pause.
NumberEleven: because sometimes you want answers you can’t afford to have.
The words land like a soft punch. I swallow and stare at the ceiling, phone glowing in the dark. Because I know what that feels like. Wanting something and being afraid of it at the same time.
I type the safest thing.
LittleTooMuch: Dramatic.
NumberEleven: accurate.
I huff a laugh.
Then I send, before I can stop myself:
LittleTooMuch: Goodnight, revolutionary.
His reply comes instantly.
