The Shift
Something had changed.
Lena noticed it in the pauses between Daniel's messages—just a second too long. In the way his laugh over video calls didn't quite light up his face. They still talked every day, still traded memes and bad puns, but the easy rhythm between them had frayed.
It was like listening to a song you used to love, only to realize it no longer made you feel anything.
She told herself this was safer. Cleaner. Less messy.
(She was lying.)
The Accidental Confession
It happened on a Tuesday.
Lena was elbow-deep in editing a manuscript when her phone buzzed.
Daniel (4:23 PM):Hypothetically, if I sent you a song that reminded me of you, would that be weird?
Her fingers froze over the keyboard.
Lena (4:25 PM):Depends. Is it a breakup song?
Daniel (4:25 PM):No. Worse.
A link followed.
She clicked before she could stop herself.
Soft guitar. Quiet vocals. "The Art of Losing" by American Poetry Club drifted through her headphones—aching, vulnerable, full of words about almosts and never-quites. About hands that reached and missed.
Her throat tightened.
Lena (4:30 PM):This is terrible.
Daniel (4:30 PM):I know.
Lena (4:31 PM):I hate it.
Daniel (4:31 PM):Me too.
A beat.
Daniel (4:33 PM):I should've picked something funnier.
Lena (4:34 PM):Yeah. You should've.
She listened to the song seven more times that night.
Each time, it hurt a little more.
The Fight That Wasn't
Daniel (11:08 PM):We should talk.
Her stomach dropped.
She knew that tone. The one that meant something real was coming.
Lena (11:09 PM):About?
Daniel (11:10 PM):This. Whatever this is. We're both pretending it's not there.
She stared at the screen until the words blurred.
Lena (11:13 PM):There's nothing to avoid.
Daniel (11:14 PM):Bullshit.
The blinking cursor mocked her.
Lena (11:16 PM):What do you want me to say?
Daniel (11:17 PM):The truth.
The truth?
That he was the first person she thought of when she woke up. That she saved his voice notes like keepsakes. That she missed him even when he was right there on her screen.
But she typed:
Lena (11:20 PM):I don't know what you want from me.
A pause.
Daniel (11:21 PM):Forget it.
And just like that, he was gone.
The Silence
Three days.
Three whole days without a word.
Lena told herself she was fine. She buried herself in deadlines, ignored the ache behind her ribs, and absolutely did not check her phone every five minutes.
(She checked every three.)
On the fourth day, Mira cornered her at brunch.
"You're moping," Mira said, stabbing her pancake like it had personally offended her.
"I'm not moping."
"You're eating dry toast and sighing at your coffee. That's peak mopery."
Lena scowled. "I'm fine."
Mira gave her a look that said liar in 18 different languages. "What happened with Internet Boy?"
Lena hesitated. "We… stopped talking."
"Why?"
Because she panicked. Because she was scared of being known, truly known. Because she never let people stay long enough to break her heart.
"It got complicated," she said.
Mira snorted. "Everything worth having is complicated. Grow up."
The Breaking Point
The notification came at 2:17 AM.
Lena's heart leapt before she could stop it.
But it wasn't him.
It was from the forum where they'd met—CaptainAwkward had commented on a new thread.
Her hands shook as she clicked.
There he was.
Debating poetry with a stranger. Joking like nothing had happened. Like she hadn't disappeared. Like she didn't matter.
Something inside her cracked wide open.
The Message
She typed it at 3:00 AM.
Deleted it.
Typed it again.
Paused.
Lena (3:12 AM):I miss you.
Send.
And then silence.
One minute. Five. Ten.
Nothing.
She turned her phone off and buried her face in her pillow, the kind of cry that leaves your lungs sore and your heart worse.
The Reply
Her phone buzzed at 6:02 AM.
Daniel (6:02 AM):I miss you too.
A pause.
Daniel (6:03 AM):Can we talk?