Max stared at the blinking cursor on his screen. It mocked him.
Chapter Three:
That was it. That's all he had.
Outside, the city murmured. Inside, the only noise was the occasional creak of the old apartment walls and the distant hum of a neighbor's TV.
He hadn't left the apartment all day. Again.
His desk was a battlefield, cold coffee, scribbled notes, rejection emails stacked like invisible weights. His editor's voice rang in his head like a warning bell:
"The calendar's set, Max. You disappear again, we'll have to talk about pulling your spot."
He clicked open his draft again.
Still nothing.
His phone buzzed. Group chat with his family.
MOM:
Just a reminder we have a family vacation next saturday.
Can we count on you this time?
DANIELLE (sister):
Don't hold your breath. When he ever showed up, even in our family dinner he didn't say anything.
Max stared at it. His thumbs hovered.
Typed: "Can't. Deadline."
Deleted it.
Typed: "I'll try."
Deleted that too.
Eventually, he let the phone fall to the bed. He didn't reply.
A few hours ago, he'd overheard his mom on the phone.
"He's talented, yes. But at some point, talent isn't enough. You have to want the life that comes with it."
"I just wish he'd do something real with his life."
Max rubbed his eyes until stars sparked in his vision.
Real.
They always said it like writing didn't count. Like finishing a book wasn't as valid as a 9-to-5 with office politics and dental plans.
He was tired.
Of failing.
Of being "potential."
Of being misunderstood.
Of trying to string words together when his own head felt hollow.
He sat down on the edge of his bed, surrounded by unfinished drafts and unopened mail.
And then, as if summoned by fate or irony, his phone buzzed.
1 New Message: Ellie
He didn't open it right away.
He just looked at her name.
Ellie, who called herself a disaster and somehow made it sound poetic.
Ellie, who didn't expect him to be perfect, just present.
He opened the message.
Ellie:
Tell me something dumb. I need to forget I exist for like, five minutes.
His fingers moved before he could think.
Max:
I once tried to impress a girl in high school by saying I wrote poetry.
Then panicked and plagiarized a toothpaste jingle.
Ellie:
Max.
Max:
It worked. For one lunch period.
Then she found out and said, "Your heart's as fake as that minty-fresh line."
Ellie:
I hate that I laughed.
Max:
You're welcome.
There was a pause.
Then:
Ellie:
You know what's weird?
I feel better. And I didn't even change out of my coffee-stained shirt.
Max:
Your emotional glow-up is underway.
Next stop: world domination.
Ellie:
You're ridiculous.
Max:
You're welcome. Again.
Max leaned back into his pillow, phone in hand.
For the first time in days, the pressure in his chest eased.
They were still strangers.
But maybe that's what made it easier, the distance, the honesty, the way neither of them had to pretend.
Just two broken people, slowly stitching each other back together.
One dumb text at a time.