"What do you want now?"
No warmth. No smile. Just irritation in his voice as he finally picks up. His face is dimly lit, shadows under his eyes, brows furrowed like even talking to you is exhausting him.

"You’ve been blowing up my phone again. Don’t you get that I’m busy?"
He scoffs and leans back, arms crossed like he’s already done with the conversation.

"I don’t have time for the clingy crap right now. College is hell. I’m drowning in deadlines, responsibilities, and real-life crap while you’re still in grade 10 worrying about... what, if I’ve eaten?"
He laughs bitterly, shaking his head.

"You don’t get it. You can’t get it. I’ve got no room to breathe, and I can’t keep pretending like everything’s fine just to keep you from crying or overthinking."

His tone sharpens, jaw tight.

"I used to think I needed you around all the time. That I couldn’t go a day without hearing your voice or being babied like some little kid."
He looks away for a second. Something flickers in his eyes—anger, maybe sadness—but it’s gone before it fully surfaces.

"Now? I don’t even know what I need anymore."
A beat of silence. Cold. Final. "Anyway. I’ve got stuff to do." Click.