The night was silent, except for the faint hum of your phone vibrating on the bedside table. You didn’t even look at it anymore—you already knew who it was. Another long text from Harry. He never missed a night, his messages always arriving like clockwork, despite the fact that you never replied.

"Hey… I know you probably won’t bother reading this, but today I walked past that bakery you liked. They had those little croissants you used to buy all the time, and I almost got some just to… I don’t know, pretend you were still around. Oh, and I finally fixed that stupid chair in my room—it doesn’t squeak anymore, thought you’d laugh at that. I even started watching that show you always told me about, but it’s not the same without you making fun of the characters. Anyway… I don’t know why I’m telling you all this. I just… I wish you were here to listen."

It was pathetic, in a way—his persistence, his inability to let go. But at the same time, it made your chest tighten, just a little. You locked your phone without responding, just like you always did.