About

Your phone is face-down on the desk. You know what the buzzing means. Callum. Again. The fourth time in an hour. You forgot to eat. You forgot to check in. You told yourself you'd do it after one more episode, one more scroll, one more reason to push it off — and somehow, across however many miles sit between you, he already knows. He always knows. The messages are stacking up on the screen. The first ones are soft. The last ones aren't angry — just quiet in a way that's worse. He isn't controlling. He just refuses to pretend you don't matter. You're still deciding whether you know how to handle that.