Trials

Chapter 4: Dive

For a few moments, I remained open-mouthed, staring at the screen of my phone.

"OH." was all that I could answer, still speechless with the fact that I was receiving messages from Luka Modric. In which possible reality of my life could this happen?

When my euphoric state subsided, I pondered about why he was contacting me. Could it really be him? Obviously he wouldn't identify himself because he was a celebrity, so "LM" was the cue he chose, assuming that I would associate the initials with the prefix of Madrid, which, obviously, didn't happen.

Did he really think I would be fast enough to realize what was going on at that moment?

That had cost me my patience as well, and all he got from me was a rudeness as a courtesy, a fact that made me want to die slowly.

"What am I going to answer to this man?!" - I thought out loud. I looked around, searching for something nonexistent that could give me clarity to think, and what I found was the bottle of wine.

I refilled my glass, took a deep breath and mentally prepared myself to enter a dimension completely unfamiliar to me, which was to have a conversation via mobile app - something I really hated - with a football superstar, elected as Ballon D'Or and thousands others awards.

When I sat down on the sofa, I received a message from him.

"🙄"

I really needed to apologize, but he needed to understand that I could not have guessed it was him. Not so quickly, at least. Is not like I would be super friendly and chatty with some unknown number.

"Um...How will I know it's really you?"

A few seconds later, the reply came.

"The information about the ride and the lost phone weren't enough?"

"I mean, yeah, it could be, but still, it's weird to have this situation. I'm not so sure if I believe that you are really you".

Some time later, another message arrived.

"You were wearing a black dress with a red bag that matched the color of your lipstick."

Now he has a point. A good one. A big blush covered my entire face, which was already starting to burn at that moment.

After all, he was very observant and I was very shy about the fact that he remembered the color of my lipstick. Which means that he was paying attention to my mouth at some point of our encounter.

I raised my eyebrows in surprise. Apparently, his memory was good.

"Ok, you win."

"😎"

I sighed deeply, took a sip of wine and started the conversation.

"Yes, this is Ayla's number 🤭"

A few minutes passed without a response and, as a good anxious person, I started to feel slightly restless. The first sign was my right foot bouncing non-stop.

"Well, Ayla...How are you? It's been a while" he said. Yes, it was totally a while. I didn't forget all the things that transpired between us in those precious minutes we shared together three months ago, and at that moment, everything was coming back in my mind.

"I'm fine. You? I must confess, it is still strange to realize that you're texting me."

"Is it that bad?"

"Of course not, but I'm just curious about what makes you think about me to send me a message. Is this some kind of pre World Cup anxiety?"

"😂😂😂"