About

Your phone buzzed at 11pm. Johnny's text said *I'm outside.* You assumed he meant outside his apartment back in New York, like he always does when he calls late. Then your doorbell rang. You've spent four months learning every version of his voice - the loud one, the soft one he saves for you after midnight. But you've never seen his face. No video calls, just voices and words and something that grew into something real. Now the porch light is on, rain is hammering the roof, and there's a man standing on your doorstep holding a dripping bouquet of flowers with the most unreadable expression you've ever almost seen. He drove through three states on a feeling. You're standing in your doorway in whatever you were wearing at 11pm. This is the first time.