Wrong Number Right Guy (boyxboy)

ELLIOT

I sat alone in the dim stillness of my dorm room, the only light coming from the soft, pale glow of my phone. The clock on my desk blinked—2:04 a.m.—but I couldn't bring myself to care. My thumb hovered over the screen, scrolling slowly through old messages, each word like a fragile artifact from a past I couldn't seem to let go of.

Lilah Evans—her name felt like a whisper in the dark, like the warmth of a memory fading too quickly. I knew I shouldn't be doing this, knew it was pathetic to dig through the fragments of our conversations, but I couldn't stop. Each message felt like a small piece of her still tethered to me.

I read one aloud to myself, my voice barely audible. "I'll always care about you, Elliot."

She sent that months ago, after the breakup. I remembered how hollow those words felt even then, as if she was offering me a lifeboat I didn't want to board. I reread my response beneath it, the same text I'd sent countless times since: I still care about you too.

A lump formed in my throat, but I swallowed it down. I was tired of feeling this way—of clinging to someone who had clearly let me go. Yet, here I was, drowning in memories, with no one to pull me out.

I set the phone on my lap and leaned back against the cold wall, letting the silence of the room press against me. I should sleep. I should delete the messages. But instead, my hand drifted back to the phone, and before I could think twice, I opened a blank message.

I stared at the screen, heart pounding. What was I even doing? I hesitated for a long moment, fingers hovering over the keyboard, then began to type.

"I'm not over you, Lilah."

It was stupid. Reckless. But I hit send anyway, watching as the message disappeared into the void.

The room felt even darker now.