I still couldn't believe I had stared at Michael's lips like some crazy, hungry wolf. What was wrong with me? Back in my room, I slumped onto my bed, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to steady my racing heart. The quiet hum of the ceiling fan above seemed almost deafening in the stillness.
Just then, my phone buzzed. Excitement bubbled up, my heart leaping in hope—it might be Michael. But no—it was a message from a name I hadn't seen in years, someone miles away: one of Mitch's old friends.
Curious despite myself, I opened the link he'd sent. A video presentation filled the screen—Mitch's face looked different—healthier, even happy. A small, bittersweet smile ghosted across my lips. A strange wave of relief washed over me. For all this time, I'd imagined the worst. Maybe he was okay after all.
I quietly reacted to the video and set my phone down, the silence pressing around me, when another message popped up from the same person:
"You're Mitch's ex, right?"
I blinked, fingers hovering before finally typing, "Yes. Why?"
His reply came almost immediately:
"He talks about you constantly. He misses you a lot."
A tight knot formed in my chest. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, blurring the world around me. What was this tangle of emotions—happiness? Sadness? Confusion? Anger? I wasn't sure anymore.
"No way!" I typed hastily. "He left me without a word."
The phone buzzed again. "He thought you cheated on him."
Heat flushed my face with fury. I nearly flung my phone across the room. He knows how much I hate cheaters! How dare he accuse me? My fingers trembled as I read the next message.
"He has a girlfriend now."
I scoffed, bitter and hollow. "Good for him," my thumbs responded. But another message followed.
"Yet, he still loves you."
I didn't respond. The words weighed heavily on my chest, twisting my thoughts into knots. How could he leave me — walk away without a single explanation — and still hold onto love for me? The contradiction stung more than I expected.
Curiosity gnawed at me as the night deepened. I found myself scrolling through Mitch's social media, my eyes searching for clues, for answers… for any semblance of closure. Then I saw her — Chesca. His new girlfriend. The same girl whose friend had once called me a whore for messaging someone already taken. I remembered how Mitch had once shown me their conversations to reassure me — yet it hadn't stopped the heartbreak, the confusion that followed.
Seeing Chesca's smiling face now sent a surge of rage and bitterness rolling through me. Of all the girls — why her?
Impulsively, I typed a short message to Mitch's friend. "Hi."
Almost instantly, a teasing reply, "Miss me already?"
I smirked, fingers speedily typing, "In your dreams."
"Then why message me?" he shot back.
I took a deep breath and asked bluntly. "Who is Mitch's new girlfriend?"
His answer made my stomach twist. "None of your business."
I frowned but didn't respond.
After a pause, more candid. "Chesca."
I smirked knowingly. So it was indeed her.
I thought that might be the end of it, but then something unexpected happened — he reacted to one of my Facebook stories with a simple heart emoji.
I stared at my phone, surprised. He had reacted to several of my stories about my favorite series — a strange mix of curiosity and caution stirring inside me.
Within minutes, a message popped up:
"Obsessed with that show, huh? Can't believe how hooked you are."
I chuckled softly and replied, "Guilty as charged. You?"
He responded quickly, "Same here. Glad I'm not the only one."
That simple exchange opened a floodgate. We talked for hours, sharing random jokes, life updates, and even some memories from places and times long past.
His tone was light, teasing at times, but beneath it all, there was an honesty I hadn't expected from someone I'd never met in person.
At one point, I hesitated before typing carefully, "I'm curious… what's Mitch really like these days?"
There was a pause—longer than before—and then his reply appeared:
"Different. He's changed a lot. Chesca keeps him grounded, but I think he still thinks about you more than he lets on."
My fingers trembled as I sent back,
"Why didn't he ever say anything? Why did he just leave?"
The silence that followed felt weighty and suffocating. Finally, he sent a message, "Fear. Misunderstandings. I don't think he wanted to hurt you."
I stared at those words, the ache in my chest deepening. Not knowing how to respond, I sent a small smile emoji, hoping the simple gesture conveyed what words could not.
Days passed, and I found myself longing for his messages more and more. The glowing screen of my phone became a quiet comfort, filling the empty spaces in my thoughts.
One warm afternoon, Michael and I sat together on the worn wooden bench beneath the sprawling branches of an old oak tree. The breeze tousled his dark hair as he leaned back, eyes closed in peaceful bliss. Suddenly, my phone buzzed softly against my thigh.
I glanced at the screen, a smile tugging at my lips. Michael's eyes snapped open, curious.
"Who is it?" he asked gently, his voice low and tentative.
"It's Mitch's friend," I said quietly, struggling to meet his gaze. "We've been bonding over some shared interests lately."
Michael's smile faltered ever so slightly. A flicker of something—unease? jealousy?—passed across his face. A quiet ache blossomed inside me, guilt knotting in my chest. How could I be reaching out to someone else when Michael sat here, offering me his warmth and care?
Before I could explain, Michael's bitter, almost resigned smile cut through the air.
"It's okay. We're not dating yet. I guess you can have multiple suitors, right?"
His words hit me harder than I expected—as if I'd been suddenly seen and ranked in some unspoken competition. I shook my head slowly, meeting his eyes with a steadiness I didn't feel inside.
"No," I said quietly but firmly. "He's not a suitor. He's just… someone I talk to. Nothing more."
Michael's gaze faltered for a heartbeat. The weight behind his smile deepened—the vulnerability he tried to hide flickered across his eyes. "You don't have to explain," he whispered, but it sounded more like pleading than reassurance.
I wrapped my arms around him, holding him tightly as though the act alone could chase away the unspoken fears between us. The truth was, my heart tangled in confusion. The pull toward Mitch's friend was real, but so was the warmth Michael offered. It felt like standing on the edge of two worlds—and I wasn't sure which way to leap.
Still, I made a decision, sharp and painful. For Michael—because he was here, because he showed up—I would close that chapter. I deleted the account, silenced the messages, and turned my focus fully on the present.
Michael's Perspective
Jealousy clawed at me like a restless storm. I tried to bury it, but Angelica's smile as she read that message—I couldn't get it out of my mind. It was innocent, light, but it cut me deeper than I expected.
Mitch and his friend were shadows lurking in her past, now slipping into the edges of our present. She said he was just a friend, but my heart hammered loud with doubts that whispered otherwise.
When I joked about "multiple suitors," it was a brittle mask hiding a desperate fear. The idea of losing her wasn't just pain—it was ...an unbearable ache threatening to unravel me.
Every time I saw her glance at her phone, my chest tightened like a vise. I wanted to be the one she reached for first—the only one she needed. Not a temporary message, not a ghost from the past competing silently for her attention.
But love is as much about faith as it is about fear. So I swallowed my doubts, held my breath, and chose to believe that patience, honesty, and the fragile promises we make in quiet moments could carry us through.
Because sometimes, loving someone means holding your fears in silence—and trusting that the heart can find its way back home.