$
$
#
ARK'S POV
#
$
$
Saturday Morning
Saturday should have felt lighter. No school. No hallways full of stares. No cafeteria where my eyes would catch a glimpse of him.
But the moment I opened my eyes, I knew it wasn't lighter. The ache from yesterday still sat on my chest. The silence of my room wasn't comforting- it was loud.
The sunlight pushed through my blinds like it had no respect for my mood. Golden shafts stabbed across my room, landing on my desk, my bed, my phone, and finally, me. I felt the urge to shove my head under the pillow until it was gone, swallowed by darkness. But my body didn't cooperate. My chest felt heavy, weighted down by a knot of dread that wouldn't loosen.
It had been days.
Days of silence.
Days of him ignoring me, of him existing in a world where I didn't seem to exist at all.
I rolled over, pulling the scarf tighter around my face. I didn't need it now, not in the quiet of my bedroom, but I couldn't shake the sense that it protected me- if not from the world, then from myself. From the vulnerability gnawing at my insides. It was more than cloth now. It was habit. It was armor. Without it, I felt too bare.
I stared at the ceiling for too long.
And then my eyes flicked to the nightstand.
My phone.
His number sat in there. I remembered the day I typed the number to his phone. The warmth of his pocket still intact. I remember it vividly. The smirk on my face knowing that I finally has his number and him with my number.
I picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen.
I typed: Why are you ignoring me?
Then deleted it.
I typed: Do you hate me?
Deleted.
I typed: I miss you.
Deleted so fast my fingers trembled.
Every word felt wrong. Too weak. Too desperate. Too bare.
My chest was tight, my heartbeat a drum I couldn't control. My fingers hovered over the phone, willing themselves to do something- anything-but all I did was stare at the screen, the words I wanted to say locked behind fear.
I dropped the phone back onto the sheets and pulled the blanket over my head, groaning into the fabric. My chest felt swollen, heavy, like if I kept all of this inside, I'd explode.
But I didn't text him. Not yet.
Late Morning
The smell of pancakes slipped into my room. My stomach growled, but I didn't move at first. My eyes burned from holding back tears I swore I wouldn't cry again, but crying always won in the end.
The smell of breakfast drifted up from the kitchen. Pancakes. Syrup. Toast. My stomach rumbled, but I didn't move. I stayed curled in the sheets, staring at the ceiling as though it could answer all my questions.
Finally, I dragged myself up, scarf tight around my face. She stood at the stove, humming softly as she worked, the mundane rhythm of her morning oddly groundin. She turned, smiled at me.
"There's my girl," she said warmly.
I forced a smile under my scarf. "Morning."
She didn't push. She never did. She just slid a plate toward me and poured juice into a glass. I ate slowly, each bite heavy, like my stomach wasn't sure it wanted food or wanted to turn itself inside out.
But my phone sat on the counter beside me. Taunting me. A reminder:
I repeated this for what felt like hours, each attempt draining a little more from me. Words hovered on my lips in my mind- please notice me, I can't stop thinking about you, I need to hear you- but none made it to the screen.
My chest ached with the weight of everything I wanted to say and couldn't.
Afternoon
Chores, dishes, laundry. My body moved automatically, my mind elsewhere. Every clatter of the plates, every rustle of the clothes felt distant. I was trapped in my own head, orbiting around him.
His smirk. The way his attention effortlessly pulled others toward him. The way he ignored me.
I hated myself for thinking about him, for craving him even when he made it hurt.His whispers in other girls' ears. I hated myself for the blush that rose every time his name crossed my mind.His indifference. I hated myself for it. For wanting him even when it hurt.
By three o'clock, I gave up pretending I wasn't going to text him. I curled up on the couch, scarf still snug, pillow in my lap, phone in hand.
Hey.
Delete.
Do you even care?
Delete.
I just want to talk to you.
Delete.
My hands shook. My heart pounded so hard I could feel it in my throat. I wanted to scream just to get the pressure out.
I didn't know how to stop the trembling in my hands, the heat in my cheeks, the rapid thud of my heart. My body felt both frozen and on fire.
And then-
"Ark!" My mom's voice cut through the silence. She appeared in the doorway so suddenly that I jumped. My thumb pressed down without thinking.
The phone lit up.
Call.
My stomach dropped. My heart stopped.
I looked down, horrified. His name glowed across the screen.
Oh God.
Oh God no.
"Mom, you scared me!" I hissed, pressing the phone tight against my chest, panicked.
But it was too late.
The call connected.
For a second, there was only silence.
Then-
"Ark."
His voice. Deep. Smooth. Unmistakable.
It echoed through the room like it owned the air itself.
Everything froze. My muscles stiffened. My chest hammered so hard I could barely breathe. My throat locked. My mind turned to static. I froze. My mom stared at me, confused, but I couldn't move. Couldn't speak.
"Ark," he said again.
My whole body trembled. I wasn't ready to hear his voice yet, but the need to reach him overpowered every other thought.
And then came it. His breathing. Heavy, steady, deliberate. Close. Right there, even through the phone. It filled the quiet room, making my body tingle, every nerve awake and on fire.
Images flashed through me like they were being pulled from memory. Him leaning close. Whispering. Smirking. The heat of his lips near my ear. The flush that had always burned my face.
I clutched the couch cushion as though it could hold me together. My chest felt like it might explode.
Then his voice slid through again, smoother this time, deeper.
"I can hear you breathing, youknow." A pause, deliberate, sharp. "Why did you call… You miss me."
My lungs forgot how to work.
Because yes. I did. God, I did. Every fiber of me screamed it.
But my voice wouldn't come. My throat was locked, chained shut.
So I did the only thing I could.
I hung up.
The click shattered the moment.
I dropped the phone as though it burned my hands. My knees buckled. I grabbed the nearest pillow, shoved it against my face, and screamed. Raw, guttural, high-pitched, muffled. Every ounce of panic, longing, embarrassment, and foolish joy erupted in that scream.
My heart was racing like it wanted to escape. My ears rang. My chest hurt so badly I thought I might pass out.
And yet…
I couldn't stop trembling.
I was embarrassed. Shy. Terrified. And yet-
Happy.
So stupidly, ridiculously happy.
Because for the first time in days, I'd heard his voice.
Even if all he got was the sound of me breathing like a fool.
I couldn't stop smiling, even through the panic.
Because for one fleeting, terrifying, wonderful moment, I'd heard his voice.
And he'd heard mine.
Even if all he got was me screaming into a pillow like a complete fool.
Evening
I couldn't stop replaying it. Every syllable, every whisper, every drawn-out Ark in his voice. My chest still ached from the memory of his breath through the phone. I pressed the phone against my chest like it could still hold that sound for me.
I lay on the couch for hours, scarf still tight, pillow hugging me, listening to the silence that felt impossibly loud. My mother watched me with gentle concern, asking questions I couldn't answer. My words wouldn't come.
I was dizzy from my own feelings- embarrassment, longing, joy, shame, and desire all colliding in my chest.
Every time I closed my eyes, I could see him leaning in, his lips brushing against my ear, whispering. My skin tingled, my cheeks flushed, my chest constricted.
And somehow, even through the embarrassment and panic, a small, dangerous warmth crept in. Because despite every ounce of frustration, every tear I had held back, every day of feeling invisible- he hadn't ignored me completely. Not this time.
That tiny, almost forbidden hope curled in my chest.
Dinner came and went, my mom chatting idly about the neighbors, the grocery store, anything. I nodded, smiled where I had to, but my mind wasn't with her.
It was back on that call.
The way he said my name, like it was something he'd been holding onto.
The way his breathing filled the silence, thick and heavy, until it felt like he was right there, standing over me again.
The way his words curled around me: You miss me.
I lay in bed later, lights off, scarf still tied. The pillow smelled faintly of the fabric softener my mom used, but all I could feel was the heat from that moment.
I pressed my phone to my chest, heart still racing. I couldn't stop replaying it.
I lay awake for hours, tangled in blankets, scarf tight, fingers tracing the outline of the pillow, imagining him leaning over me, whispering my name like he had in the call.
The night became a battlefield of feelings I couldn't untangle. Every thought of him was sharp, delicious, painful. Every memory and every imagined touch made my skin burn.
And somewhere in that unbearable ache, I found a single truth:
I didn't just miss him.
I wanted him.
I needed him.
Even if it terrified me to admit it.
Even if the world could never see it.
Even if I had no idea how I could survive another day without hearing him again.
Because for the first time in days, I knew he still existed in my world. And that knowledge… was enough to make my chest both ache and sing at the same time.
And that tiny, dangerous hope was enough to keep me awake all night.