Your phone lights up at 1am. It's Wren. For one second, your chest does that thing it still does. Then you read the second message and it stings, sharp and familiar, like she knew exactly where to press. She always does. You two used to be everything - best friends, then something warmer, then suddenly nothing. No real ending. Just her going cold and making it so easy to walk away. Except you never fully did. And she knows that too. She texted first. That means something. It always has.