Chapter 3: The Empty Phone
I woke up to the sound of static.
Not from the radio, just the air itself, buzzing faintly, like the world was holding a breath it couldn't release. My head throbbed. My body felt heavy, like I'd slept through something important. The white lily from last night still lay on my notebook, its petals already beginning to brown at the edges.
My phone buzzed once.
The screen flashed, then dimmed.
For a moment, I thought it was Sam.
But it was just CJ texting the group chat.
CJ: Bro, you're going out with us today?
Emman: Dude is still ghosting us.
I typed a reply, my fingers trembling slightly.
Jess: Have you found any photos from the trip? From the spring?
CJ replied after a few seconds.
CJ: What photos?
My chest tightened. I scrolled up the thread. Every message from that day was gone. The entire chat history between me and CJ was reduced to blank timestamps like something had erased the words, leaving only the memory of where they used to be.
I switched to my photo gallery.
A sinking feeling grew in my gut.
Every picture from the spring was still there, just without her. I'd already seen that. But this time… more was missing. Photos from birthdays, our first date, random selfies are gone. Folders rearranged themselves in real time. Thumbnails blinked out one by one until the screen was a gray void.
Then, one image flickered and stopped.
A single thumbnail remained, half-corrupted, labeled "Unknown.jpg."
My breath caught. I opened it.
The screen turned black. Then slowly, pixels began to form her outline, blurry and incomplete, like she was dissolving into static. Her eyes were there but unfocused. Her lips half-shaped my name before the image glitched again.
Then, across the top of the photo, white text appeared, not part of any app:
"She was never written in My book."
I dropped the phone.
It hit the floor with a dull crack, the sound echoing too loudly in the quiet room. I stared at it, waiting for the screen to go black again, but it didn't. The message stayed frozen there, like something sacred and cruel etched into light.
I picked it up with shaking hands.
Battery: 100%.
Signal: No service.
A cold realization slid through me.
My phone wasn't malfunctioning. It was being rewritten.
I ran downstairs, nearly tripping on the last step. My mom glanced up from the kitchen table.
"Jess? You okay?"
"Mom," I said, breathless. "Do you remember Sam?"
She blinked. "Who?"
"Samantha Faith Flores," I said quickly. "She came over for dinner once, remember? The one with the laugh that filled the whole house, she brought mango shake for everyone..... and the one who worked with Auntie Janet once..."
Her face softened with concern. "Honey, are you sure you're not confusing her with someone else?"
The air left my lungs.
I didn't answer. I just backed away slowly.
Upstairs, my room felt smaller now, like the walls had moved closer. I sat on my bed, holding the phone as if it might burn me. I tried calling her number again, though I already knew what would happen.
The number you have dialed is not in service.
I tried again.
Same result.
By the third time, I was crying.
It wasn't just grief anymore; it was erasure.
A quiet, methodical unmaking.
I wiped my eyes and opened social media. Every tag, every post, every shared photo where she used to exist is gone. Even comments she'd left on other people's posts vanished mid-scroll. I searched her name.
No results.
It wasn't just like she died, it was like she had never been born.
My hand trembled as I opened my notes app. Maybe I'd written something, anything to remind myself of her. Scrolling down, I found one note dated from last month, titled "Her."
When I opened it, it was blank.
No words. No metadata. Just one faint smudge near the bottom, like a tear had fallen there.
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By afternoon, I couldn't stay still anymore.
I grabbed my jacket and left the house, the rain soft but endless. My footsteps echoed down the quiet streets, every sound dampened by drizzle and fog. My destination wasn't clear. I just walked, like my body remembered where to go when my mind didn't.
When I looked up, I realized where I was.
Yummy Mango Brew Café.
The same place from yesterday.
The same smell of roasted beans and faint sweetness.
But this time, when I walked in, the lights flickered.
Only two customers sat inside, their faces vague, unimportant. The barista from before gave me a nod, but there was no warmth in it now. The shop felt hollow like a memory left too long in the sun.
I sat in our old spot again. Same table. Same view of the window.
And without thinking, I whispered, "Mango shake, please."
The barista paused mid-step, frowning. "Sorry, sir. We don't serve that."
I smiled weakly. "Yeah. I know."
The rain outside grew heavier, tracing silver lines down the glass. I opened my phone again. The wallpaper, a photo of Sam smiling, holding her mango shakewas gone. Replaced by something black and blank.
No lock screen photo. No history. No trace.
Just my reflection staring back at me.
But behind my reflection… There was movement.
For a heartbeat, I saw her sitting across from me, exactly as she had that day. Her hair tied loose, her hands wrapped around a cold glass, her eyes full of sunlight and laughter. She looked alive.
Then she smiled, faint, almost apologetic.
And whispered through the glass:
"You promised Me this would happen."
The lights flickered.
The café's music cut out. For one terrifying second, every screen in the room, phones, cash register, and wall TV went black.
Then my phone vibrated.
One new message.
No sender name. Just a timestamp: 12:00 a.m.
The message read:
"Do you still remember the taste of mango?"
I stared at it until my vision blurred.
The barista's voice broke the silence. "Sir, are you okay?"
But I couldn't answer.
Because as I looked down, the message began to fade letter by letter until all that was left was a blank bubble. Then the typing dots appeared again, slow and deliberate.
And one last line appeared:
"If you keep remembering her, I'll have to take more than your memories."
My hands went numb.
The phone screen glitched once, twice and then died completely. When it went dark, the reflection staring back at me wasn't mine anymore.
It was hers.
Smiling.
Tears streaming down.
End of Chapter 3.