I only text her when I’m bored.

It’s nothing serious. It never was. Just something to pass the time when my girlfriend is busy, when the silence in my room gets too loud, when I need a distraction.

She never asks questions. Never demands anything. I like that. It keeps things simple.

I glance at my phone, my fingers hovering over her name. It’s late, and my girlfriend’s already asleep, her goodnight message left on read. I should feel guilty. Maybe I do, for a second. But then, I press call.

She picks up immediately.

I don’t even bother with small talk. I don’t have to. She knows why I’m here. I drive over, hands steady on the wheel, the city lights blurring past.

When she opens the door, she doesn’t say a word. She never does.

It makes it easier.

I step inside, and for a while, I forget about everything else. About my girlfriend. About the way I avoid her gaze whenever she asks if something’s wrong. About how I tell myself this isn’t really cheating if there’s no emotion involved.

Because there isn’t.