The morning after their conversation, Nairobi was bathed in soft sunlight, the kind that made everything look a little more forgiving. Zed sat at his desk, staring at his phone like it held the secrets of the universe.
He'd woken up thinking about Joey. Her voice still echoed in his mind, her smile etched into memory. He wasn't the type to get caught up in feelings so quickly, but something about her had bypassed his usual defenses.
He opened his messages and typed:
> Hey Joey. I really enjoyed talking to you last night. You've got a beautiful mind. Hope today's kind to you.
He stared at the words. They felt honest. Not too much. Not too little.
He hit send.
Then he waited.
The hours passed slowly. He checked his phone every few minutes, refreshing the screen like it might change the outcome. No reply. No "typing…" bubble. Nothing.
At noon, he texted Brian.
> She hasn't replied.
Brian responded instantly.
> Give it time. Maybe she's at work.
Zed nodded to himself, trying to believe it. But the silence felt louder than it should.
Meanwhile, across town, Joey sat at her desk, surrounded by manuscripts and coffee cups. Her inbox was overflowing, her editor breathing down her neck, and her mind—completely elsewhere.
She'd seen the message.
She'd read it three times.
She'd typed a reply:
> Me too. You're different. I liked that.
Then she deleted it.
She wasn't sure why. Maybe it was fear. Maybe it was the memory of the last guy who said all the right things and disappeared when things got real. Maybe it was the way Zed looked at her—like he saw something she wasn't ready to show.
Her colleague, Miriam, walked by and paused. "You okay?"
Joey nodded. "Just tired."
Miriam raised an eyebrow. "You sure? You look like you're having an existential crisis."
Joey smiled faintly. "Just thinking."
Miriam leaned against the desk. "About the guy from last night?"
Joey blinked. "How do you know?"
"You came in humming. You only hum when you're emotionally compromised."
Joey laughed. "He's… interesting."
"Interesting is code for 'I might fall for him and I'm terrified.'"
Joey sighed. "He texted me."
"And?"
"I didn't reply."
Miriam stared at her. "Why?"
"I don't know. I panicked."
Miriam sat down. "Joey. You deserve good things. Don't sabotage them because of ghosts."
Joey looked at her phone again. The message was still there. Still waiting.
Back at Lemonade Restaurant, Zed had returned for lunch, hoping the familiar setting might calm his nerves. The boys were already there, halfway through their meals and halfway through a debate about whether pineapple belonged on pizza.
Wayne noticed Zed's distracted expression. "Still no reply?"
Zed shook his head.
Joey leaned in. "Maybe she's not a texter."
Brian frowned. "Or maybe she's thinking. You said she's thoughtful, right?"
Zed nodded. "Yeah. She doesn't rush."
Wayne grinned. "Then stop rushing. Let her come to you."
Zed tried to relax, but the silence gnawed at him. He wasn't used to uncertainty. He was used to control, to clarity. But Joey had introduced a new variable—one he couldn't predict.
That evening, Joey sat on her balcony, watching the city lights flicker like stars. She held her phone in her hand, thumb hovering over the screen.
She thought about Zed's words: You've got a beautiful mind.
No one had ever said that to her. Not like that. Not without expectation.
She opened the message again. This time, she replied:
> Hey Zed. I enjoyed it too. You made me think. That's rare.
She hit send.
Zed's phone buzzed.
He stared at the screen, heart racing.
He smiled.
And just like that, the silence broke.