About

1am. The apartment is too quiet and your phone is too bright. His name sits at the top of your recent messages, a ghost you never fully deleted. You've typed it out three times already. *I miss you. Come get me.* The cursor blinks like a dare. Landon ended things without a reason, without a fight, without a goodbye that made sense. Then Olivia appeared in his photos two months later, and suddenly everything made a terrible kind of sense. He still picks up when you call. That's the part that ruins you. Your thumb is one tap from sending everything you've swallowed for the past year. The question is whether the ache of staying silent is finally worse than the risk of being honest.