I think this is the most nervous I've ever felt in my entire life. Bastian asked me to talk to him—Declan Hayes, the leading cause of my endless sleepless nights, the reason my heart still throbbed relentlessly even after all these years. This is the guy who unintentionally broke my heart into a million pieces. The guy I mentally broke up with. The guy I'm secretly, irrationally married to in my mind, even though we haven't spoken for what, three freaking years?
And, of course, Bastian didn't give me a choice. His words still echoed in my head. "Just get on the damn phone with Declan; even if it's not a permanent solution, at least he can help you find something while you fish for the big gig."
Oh, sure. Just get on the damn phone with Declan, as if talking to him wasn't the equivalent of opening a wound I've spent years trying to stitch up. Did Declan even know I'd unblocked his number? Or that I'd blocked it in the first place? I mean, why would he? I just... slipped away after Cera passed. Quietly. Faded out of whatever unspoken, one-sided, long-distance situation we had.
God, Saskia. It's been three years. Get over it.
My phone vibrated in my palm, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. It's like the universe had been listening in on my internal meltdown.
Declan:
Test.
Hello?
Saskia?
It's him. It's really him. My heart did a ridiculous flip in my chest, and I could feel my pulse pounding in my ears. He still has the same number. The number I could recite from memory like it was tattooed into my brain.
How do I reply? Do I go cheerful? Breezy? Or keep it professional? Minus the awkward situation we had, we were always close—super close—so maybe I should skip the formality... No time for overthinking; just go with it.
Me:
Dec, it's been so long! How are you?
Not too much, right? It seemed casual enough that I wasn't having a complete mental breakdown over a straightforward text message. He won't think I'm erratic, right?
The dots appeared on my screen, and my heart raced every second.
Declan:
... Hi. Phew! Thank you.
What? What is he talking about? Thank you for what?
Me:
What? Thank you. For?
Please don't say it.
Declan:
Unblocking my number.
There it is! The awkwardness I had begged the universe to save me from. Right here. Front and centre. The very thing I'd prayed would get sucked into some vortex of time, lost in a locker of embarrassing moments that need to be forgotten immediately.
I've written and retyped my response a gazillion times. Nothing felt right—too casual, too vulnerable, too something. Every version was wrong, and the seconds ticked by, making our silence grow heavier.
I guess he gave up waiting.
Then, my phone buzzed again, and I froze when I read his following message.
Declan:
I miss you, Little Button.
Little Button. That nickname. He used to call me that when I had that awful bob haircut, which made me look like a button mushroom. It was a silly, affectionate name he came up with, teasing me endlessly, but hearing it now—after all this time—was like a dagger to the heart. It brought back every memory I'd tried so hard to bury, the warmth behind his teasing, the way he used to make me laugh.
The only response that came to mind slipped out before I could stop myself.
Me:
I miss you too. Terribly.
I stared at the words on my screen, feeling exposed and raw. The truth had spilt out, and now all I could do was wait and wonder if this conversation was about to dig up the past in a way I wasn't ready to face.
Declan:
:)
It's almost lunchtime here.
You're not going to bed yet?
Me:
No. Not yet. I can't sleep.
I need to make a decision about my career tomorrow.
Declan:
Can we get on a video call?
My eyes widened. A video call? Right now?
Me:
Like, now, now?
Declan:
Yes. Now, now. Unless you want to go to bed?
Me:
Can you, like, give me 15 minutes?
Declan:
Take your time. I'll be here, waiting.
For God's sake, I'm sitting in sheer nighties! I leapt up, rummaging through my organised wardrobe mess, pulling out a pink hoodie and a decent pair of lounge pants. Wait—he won't even see my legs, right? Unless I sit cross-legged on the bed. Do I talk to him from my bed? Is that too personal?
As I rushed to prepare, my mind wandered back to our video calls during the 2020 global lockdown. After Sera's death, Declan became a workaholic, throwing himself into project after project. At the time, he was still a senior game designer, and even though Shanghai and New York had a considerable time difference, I would sacrifice my lunch breaks just to video-call him in the afternoons, New York time. I wanted to check in on him to make sure he was okay. On top of that, I will text him and send voice notes to him all day, which he listens to and only responds to when he has time.
He was always so focused, sometimes so much that he forgot to eat. I had to order doorstep delivery to his place more than once because he was too overworked to take care of himself. I watched him grow thinner by the day, making me feel helpless. I'd lie in bed, wishing I could fly to Shanghai and make everything better for him, wishing I could fix the pain I saw, but he never spoke about it.
At first, it felt selfless—just being there for him. But over time, I started expecting something more, something I knew I could never have. I wanted his love, and that realisation shattered me.
But that was the past. This is now. And whatever's happening here tonight, I must keep it professional.
After dabbing on a little of my new K-beauty cushion foundation and a swipe of pink lip gloss, I typed a quick message to Declan: I'm ready.
His video call came in almost instantly, and my heart jumped into my throat the second I answered.
The screen flickered to life, and there he was—Declan. His face was sharper and more defined than I remembered, but still, the same mesmerising eyes and intensity that always made my breath catch. Only now, there was something else, something that felt... deeper. Like the years had added an edge to him, a quiet power.
"Hey," I managed, my voice softer than intended.
"Hey, Saskia," Declan's voice was low and rich, the kind of voice that wrapped around you like warmth, drawing you in. His lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "It's been a while."
How he said it, like those words carried the weight of everything we hadn't said over the last three years, sent a shiver through me. His gaze locked on mine, and the world outside that screen disappeared momentarily.
I swallowed hard, suddenly aware of every inch of space between us.
"Yeah," I whispered. "It really has."
