It started with a meme.
Something dumb. Something about coffee and existential dread. Elia sent it to Kael on a whim, not expecting a reply.
He responded in less than a minute.
> "That's literally me every Monday. You spying on me?"
She laughed. Alone in her room, wrapped in a blanket, phone glowing like a secret. It was past midnight. The world was quiet. But her heart wasn't.
They started talking more. Not in person—just messages. Long ones. Honest ones. The kind you only send when the lights are off and your guard is down.
Kael told her about his mom. About how he hated economics but took it anyway. About the song that reminded him of his childhood. About the scar on his wrist from a bike crash when he was ten.
Elia told him about her sketchbook. Her fear of being ordinary. Her dream of designing album covers. Her habit of counting stars when she couldn't sleep.
They never said "I like you." But it was there. In the way he waited for her replies. In the way she saved his voice notes. In the way they said goodnight like it meant something.
> "Sleep well, Moonboy."
> "You too, Star Girl."
It was fragile. Beautiful. Dangerous.
Because late-night messages have a way of feeling like love.
Even when they're not.