The fans were dead and perspiration crept tortuously on my skin. My family slumbered lifelessly on adjacent beds. I should be doing the same, but I didn’t want to. I was waiting.
A warm glow pierces the darkness, followed by a familiar whir of plastic against tiles.
I sprang in wakefulness and reached for my phone. It was her. The phone’s backlight illuminated the sheets in a tense, almost eerie manner, but I couldn’t care less. I read and reread the message under the blanketing darkness of night and beamed stupidly at myself. A frenzied keypad assault ensued. Dad mumbles groggily and I only caught two words- ‘phone’ and ‘off’.
‘Just one more message’ I whispered. Strings of alphabets raced across the screen. Five minutes and 400 characters later, I reread the wall of text; all good. ‘Message sent.’
I pocketed my phone and stared into the ceiling, still smiling moronically. I’ve not felt like this in a while but oh, did it feel good. This was high school all over again.
I checked my phone. No messages received yet. It’s okay.
More ceiling-staring ensued. I wonder if she felt the same way. Of course she does, you stupid boy. But that’s the least of your worries. Doubt and helplessness soon manifested. A thousand ‘what if’s’ swamped my mind and I found myself cussing at ‘circumstances.’ This is painful, I thought.
The phone whirred to life. Ah, bliss again.
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