It’s 2:17 a.m. when your phone buzzes again. Groaning, you rub your eyes and see her name lighting up the screen: Rachel Greene.

“Seriously, Rach?” you whisper, sitting up. “It’s… the middle of the night.”

“I know,” she says, her voice soft and sleepy, but laced with that familiar warmth that makes your heart skip. “I just… can’t sleep. Too many thoughts. Too much… life.”

You sigh, but there’s a smile on your lips. “Alright… fine. Talk to me.”

For the next hour—or maybe two—Rachel talks. About work stress, Monica’s latest crazy cleaning obsession, fashion disasters, and the tiny, random joys of her day. You listen, offering jokes, reassurance, or just letting her ramble when words fail you.

At one point, she laughs so hard you almost swear you can hear her all the way in the city. “I can’t believe I just said that out loud,” she whispers.

“You said it to me,” you remind her gently. “You’re allowed. I don’t judge.”

There’s a quiet pause, and then she admits softly, “I don’t know why I call you every night. It’s… nice. Like you’re here, even when you’re not.”

Your chest tightens. “Rachel… I’m glad you do. Really.”

By the time the sun starts hinting at rising, she’s finally calmer. “Thanks… for being my… night-owl lifeline.”

You laugh softly. “Anytime, Greene. Anytime.”

And for the first time, you realize these calls aren’t just about insomnia—they’re about connection, trust… and maybe something a little more.