Okay. Good luck.
Zahra:
It’s me, u fucking asshole. Wtf?
Good luck?
Who the fuck says that?
The messages popped in three consecutive times, with no break.
Me:
Hello, Zahra.
I replied based on your earlier response. Regarding your question about how I am doing, yes, I am all right. Thank you for checking in, and no, I do not need anything.
I sent that and waited for her response, but nothing came afterward. I sat there in silence, waiting… waiting—I scrolled back to her first message and read them through, and then through my own responses.
Did I miss something? Should I add one of the yellow round faces? Was my response too formal? How do I make it informal? What—
Zahra:
Ok.
I frowned… tempted to ask who this was again. Instead, I typed out something else.
Me:
Where are you?
Her response took two minutes, thirty-nine seconds.
Zahra:
Room.
Me:
Have you returned from the casino?
This time it took longer, three minutes, forty-eight seconds.
Zahra:
Yh.
Guessing that was supposed to mean yes, I sent another response.
Me:
All right.
Are you occupied at the moment?
Six minutes, twenty seconds.
Zahra:
