The vibration against her thigh was too familiar—soft, steady, and wrong in every way.
Unknown number.
But she knew who it was. Adrian.
A sour taste filled Bella's mouth as she stared at the new string of messages flooding her screen. Words stacked over words, each one more desperate than the last. She scrolled once, twice, and stopped. It was almost pathetic—a grown man clawing at her attention like a moth burning itself on the same flame.
She flung the phone onto the bed and pressed her palms against her eyes. "God," she whispered, "what is wrong with him?"
The truth stung. It wasn't only him. She had opened that door. She had let him see her at her weakest, hoping he'd fill the empty places Chris had left behind. And now here he was, mistaking her silence for an invitation, mistaking her guilt for a promise.
It made her sick. Sick of him. Sick of herself. Sick of the way her life had turned into a maze of half-kept secrets and unfinished goodbyes.
Once she got back to campus, she would end this. Face-to-face. No more polite replies, no more excuses. She would pull the plug on Adrian completely—and if he didn't like it, that would be his problem.
Her phone buzzed again. She didn't bother to look.
A low knock came at the door. Her mother's voice floated in. "Bella, eat something. You're still weak."
"I'm fine," Bella called back, though her voice cracked. She wasn't fine. Fever or not, she felt like a building without a foundation—still standing, but empty inside. She lay back on the pillow, staring at the ceiling until the plaster blurred. A part of her wanted to cry; another part wanted to throw her phone out the window. Instead, she reached for it again, thumb hovering over the screen.
This time, it wasn't Adrian.
Chris.
Her pulse stuttered. Unknown number, but she knew. It was always him now. Every call, every message was like a pebble at her window, easy to ignore at first but constant enough to leave a mark.
She swiped the screen. "Chris?" she said before she could stop herself.
"Bella." His voice came through low, uneven, and threaded with exhaustion. "You picked up."
She almost hung up. "I shouldn't have."
"But you did." He exhaled, a sound between a sigh and a prayer. "I needed to hear you. One more time."
She closed her eyes, pressing the phone to her ear. She hated how his voice still found her—like water running through cracks she thought she'd sealed.
"I don't have anything to say to you," she muttered.
"Then don't. Please… listen."
Silence. Then his voice again, soft but urgent: "I know you hate me right now. I know I gave you every reason to. But I also know you're hurting. And God help me, Bella, I can't stand thinking you're hurting alone."
She swallowed, a lump rising in her throat. "Stop calling me. Stop dragging me back. You don't get to do this after telling me to go."
"I lied." His words tumbled out like stones. "I thought if I let you go first, it wouldn't hurt when you left. But it hurts anyway. It's killing me. And I can't—" He broke off, catching his breath. "I can't breathe without you."
She wanted to scream at him, tell him he was cruel, and tell him he was selfish. Instead, her voice came out small, almost trembling. "Why are you saying all this now?"
"Because I'm scared," he said. "Scared that if I don't fight for you, I'll lose you to people like Adrian. Scared that you'll forget me."
Her heart lurched at the name. "Adrian is nothing to me."
"You don't sound sure."
"I am," she snapped. She wasn't sure of anything anymore, except that Chris still made her pulse race—even when she hated him for it.
The line went quiet, his breath brushing her ear through the speaker. "Tell me you don't miss me," he said finally. "Tell me, and I'll stop calling."
She opened her mouth, but no words came. She could lie, but her voice would betray her. She could tell the truth, but that truth would undo her.
Chris chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. "You can't, can you?"
"Chris…" Her voice faltered. "Stop."
"No. Not until you say it."
Her fingers tightened around the phone. "I hate you for this."
"Say you don't miss me."
Her eyes stung. "I miss you, okay?" she whispered.
The breath he released on the other end sounded like a shudder. "God, Bella…"
Something shifted between them. It was like a door cracked open after lockdownfor months. His voice dropped to a lower register. "You remember how you used to talk to me at night? The things you said when no one could hear?"
Her stomach fluttered. "Don't."
"You do," he murmured. "You remember how you whispered my name like it was a secret prayer."
She bit her lip. "Chris…"
"Say it again," he coaxed. "Say my name the way you used to."
Her heart hammered. She knew she should end the call, but her body betrayed her. "Chris," she breathed.
He groaned. "Just like that. You don't know what that does to me."
Her cheeks burned. She shifted on the bed, torn between anger and longing. "You're not fair," she whispered.
"I never was, with you," he said. "Because with you, I can't pretend."
His words slid through her like warm rain. She hated herself for how they made her feel—alive, wanted, seen.
"I shouldn't be talking to you like this," she said, but her voice was already softer.
"I know." He paused, then his tone turned even lower, rougher. "But I can't stop thinking about you. About your voice. About the way you used to tremble when I touched you."
Her breath caught. "Chris…"
"You're trembling now, aren't you?"
She closed her eyes. "Stop."
"Tell me I'm wrong," he whispered.
Her silence gave him his answer.
He exhaled. "I want to be where you are right now. I want to hold you until you stop shaking. I want to…" His voice broke off, but the heat in it remained. "But I'll wait. As long as it takes. Don't shut me out… please."
Her pulse thudded loud in her ears. She knew this was dangerous. She knew she should cut him off. But his words curled around her like smoke, intoxicating, impossible to ignore.
"Chris," she whispered, "don't make promises you can't keep."
"I'm not." His voice steadied. "I'm coming back for you. And when I do, we'll finish what we started."
Her heart lurched. "What do you mean?"
Silence.
"Chris?"
But the line had gone dead.
Bella stared at the phone, her fingers trembling. The screen was dark, but his voice still echoed in her mind. A mixture of Adrian's texts, her guilt, and a hunger she couldn't name.
Her phone buzzed again. Her stomach dropped.
Was it Chris? Was it Adrian? Or was it something—someone—else?
The screen lit up one last time.
"You left me unfinished."
Her breath caught. That wasn't Chris's voice.