The screen glowed softly against Elena's face, pale light dancing in her eyes as she stared at the message:
P >Have a safe trip home.
She read it once. Then again.
It wasn't much. Just five words.
But something about it curled warmth into the quiet places of her chest. Something about the way he'd waited until she was out of sight, until she was already gone, and then reached out, low and soft like a hand brushing her back in passing.
Her thumb hovered over the keyboard longer than it should have. Her words swirled on the text bar, too many, and then none. Eventually, she chose the safest, smallest reply she could manage:
E > Will do.
She sent it before she could second-guess, then turned her phone face-down on her legs like it might burn her fingers if she kept holding it.
By the time she arrived at her apartment, Iris was already there, her feet tucked under her on the couch, with hot chocolate steaming beside a bowl of popcorn she'd been picking through for the perfectly puffed kernels. The living room smelled like cinnamon-sugar and warmth. A familiar movie played softly in the background, one they'd seen too many times to need subtitles or attention.
"You took forever," Iris teased, tossing a marshmallow at her.
"I ran into someone," Elena replied vaguely, shrugging out of her coat.
Iris didn't press. Not yet.
Instead, they fell into the easy rhythm of their weekend ritual: oversized hoodies, face masks, snacks that never made it to bowls, and too many opinions on fictional characters. The room flickered with TV light. Their laughter filled the silences.
But still, Elena kept glancing at her phone.
Every time it lit up, her heart gave a little stutter. Every time it didn't, disappointment settled in its place like dust.
She hated how much space he took up in her mind already.
He was a stranger. She owed him nothing. He had barely replied.
And yet…
There was something in his eyes that felt like a shared secret. Like he had once carried loneliness too.
Later, after Iris left with a sleepy wave and the remains of the snacks stuffed into a takeaway bowl, Elena cleaned up in silence. She moved slowly, methodically, folding blankets, stacking mugs, and even wiping crumbs from the counter.
The apartment was dim now, soft lamp light throwing golden shapes across the walls. The quiet after company always made her feel a little empty, like the party had gone on inside her and left her hollow when it ended.
She was drying a glass when her phone pinged.
She froze mid motion, staring at the two notifications on her screen.
Her stomach twisted before she even read them.
One from Dylan.
One from… Pharmacist?
She opened Dylan's first.
D > Hey babe. Haven't heard from you all weekend. Just wanted to check in. Hope you're okay.
It was simple. Thoughtful. Distantly familiar, like a jacket she used to love that didn't quite fit anymore.
Her fingers hovered a bit over "Reply" but didn't type anything.
Then she clicked open the second message.
P > Did you have fun at girls' night?
Her lips tugged up, involuntarily.
So he had been thinking about her.
Her reply came quicker this time.
E > We did. Too much popcorn and tales, hence, not enough good TV screen time.
P > That's the correct ratio for a successful night, he sent back almost immediately.
And just like that, the line between them stretched again, it's thread-thin, invisible, but unbroken.
Winter was on its last breath, and as the days passed in its soft blur, its chill lingered only in the early mornings, retreating more and more with every afternoon sunbeam. The snow fell less often now, and when it did, it came light and unsure, like even the sky wasn't ready to let go.
And through it all, they kept texting.
Never too much. Never too deep, Just the little things.
P > How's work today?
E > Slow. Two kids argued over which encyclopaedia had the better font.
P > Important battle.
Or
E > I made tea too strong this morning. It felt like a challenge from the gods.
P > What's life without a little risk?
It wasn't flirting, not exactly.
But there was something in the messages, something gentle and attentive, that carries quiet companionship.
And always, always, Elena asked him for his account number.
Casually at first.
E > I still owe you for that day, by the way. Let me send it before I forget.
Then a few days later.
E > I promise I won't stop bugging you about this. Seriously, let me refund you.
She even tried playful once.
E > You're making it hard to be a responsible adult here. Give me the digits, man.
But every time, he'd dodged it with practiced ease.
P > It's not a big deal.
P > I've forgotten about it already.
P > Buy yourself a nice coffee instead.
And once, just:
P > You don't owe me anything, Elena.
That one stayed with her longer than she expected. She read it three times. Not because she didn't understand it, but because something about it hurt a little.
It was kind. But distant.
It was generous. But final.
It felt like he was building a boundary she hadn't asked for—but also hadn't earned the right to cross.
And she didn't know why that bothered her.
Some nights, she lay in bed with the lights off and the phone warm in her hand, wondering how someone she barely knew could occupy this much space inside her chest.
She had a boyfriend.
Dylan.
Kind, predictable, busy.
He wasn't cruel. He was partially absent. But he wasn't… this
Not this slow, curious ache she felt every time Nate texted. Not this pull of something quiet and patient unraveling between them, like two people gently walking toward each other across a bridge of silence.
It made her nervous, yet, it made her feel alive.
Spring was coming.
She could feel it in the air, crisper in the mornings, but lighter somehow. Like hope was beginning to bloom again, quiet and unsure, under all the places winter had buried it.
But the snow hadn't completely stopped.
Not yet.
And in her chest, Elena was counting down too. Not just to the last snow of the season, but to something she couldn't name.
To a moment she could feel drawing closer, even if she didn't know what it meant yet.
- - - -
That day had been unusually hectic at the pharmacy. Customers had trickled in without pause. From cough syrup confusion to misplaced prescriptions, to a man who insisted his daughter's vitamins were "conspiring against her appetite." Nate had smiled through it all, but by the time he locked up and stepped into the chilly air of dusk, his bones ached for silence.
He parked in his usual spot and stepped out, rubbing at the back of his neck, his thoughts still tangled in the day's chaos.
Just as he approached the building, something made him pause.
Up ahead, the windows of the second-floor apartment glowed warmly in the night. Without thinking, his eyes lingered on them. The curtains were drawn slightly open. The silhouette of someone moving-maybe Iris, maybe Elena-played across the drapes.
He looked away just as quickly and scoffed under his breath.
'What are you doing?'
It was stupid. He barely knew her. And yet… she was always there. In his inbox. In the way he looked out his own window sometimes. In the odd quiet moments where he didn't expect to think of her—but did.
Their chats were simple. Nothing had changed. But they'd stayed.
And so had she, in his head, like a song with no chorus, just rhythm.
She had asked for his account number again that morning, and again he'd brushed her off.
Not because he didn't want her to return the money.
But because… as ridiculous as it sounded, this.... this was the string between them. If he gave her the number, the string would be cut. And right now, he wasn't ready to let go of that invisible line. Not yet. He wanted to hold it for a little while longer.
He wanted to know more about her.
He wanted… more.
But that kind of wanting was dangerous, especially when you had things you kept buried.
Nate clenched his jaw, sighed, and pulled out his car keys.
He needed a distraction.
He'd driven across town with no music on. Just the hum of the engine and the city lights passing like whispers against the windshield. The roads were quiet on this side. Familiar.
When he finally pulled into the driveway, the porch light was still on.
Inside, he'd breezed past his parents, who looked up in surprise from the living room.
"Why are you here this late?" his mother called after him.
"Long day," he murmured, already heading down the hall.
He opened the bedroom door softly.
The room smelled like clean sheets and something faintly floral. Nightlight glowing in the corner. A tiny figure stirred under the covers, blanket tangled around small feet.
Then a beat followed by a motion, just as a sleepy voice, bright with recognition and joy called out:
"Daddy!"
And then the figure was flying into his arms, all warmth and cotton pajamas and the kind of love that asked no questions.
He exhaled deeply, holding him close. His muscles eased. His chest loosened.
"Ahh…" he whispered into his hair.
"I've missed you, son."