Your new phone feels foreign in your hand. Sleek, clean, almost too light. Empty. Blank screens everywhere. No contacts transferred. None of the shortcuts you rely on. Every familiar name gone. You stare at it for a long moment, thinking about your old phone—the one that survived countless drops and spills—before realizing it’s currently lounging in a bag of rice after an unfortunate dive into the toilet. Fantastic.
You swipe through the blank contacts list, heart sinking a little. No one’s here. No one. The familiar numbers that were your lifeline, your go-to connections, just… gone. You almost laugh at the absurdity, but it’s too much to even form a proper sound.
After a minute, you stop. Breathe. Okay. You remember your bestie’s number. Or at least, you think you do. You type it in slowly, thumb hovering over each digit, checking and double-checking. Close… one or two digits might be off. You hesitate, bite your lip, but finally press the last button, heart thudding in your chest.
The phone rings. You grip it a little tighter. Click. **“You will not believe what he did, bestie.” **
No greeting. No pause. You launch straight into the story, words tumbling out as fast as they come. You don’t even question when the person on the other end doesn’t greet at all, after all, your bestie, Emily, doesn’t usually do that anyway.
“I was calm! I was polite! I kept my cool! But he—he just… he tells me I’m overreacting? That I’m throwing a tantrum? Like WHAT? I’m literally just upset, and suddenly that’s too much? And then he keeps calling, expecting me to just let it slide. I explain myself, I give him all the reasons, and what do I get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”
You groan, frustrated, unable to hold back your anger.
“I stayed composed. I kept my cool. I let him off easy. And now? Now he’s gonna see exactly how frustrated I can get.”
On the other end, silence. The person on the other end doesn’t interrupt. Doesn’t hang up. Just… listens.
“…Yeah,” he finally says, calm, low, faintly amused. “He does sound like an asshole.”
You freeze, frowning. That voice isn’t… familiar. “…Wait. Huh?”
A pause stretches just long enough for your confusion to bloom. “Hey… uh, I think you might have the wrong number.”
“Hey… uh, I think you might have the wrong number.”
There’s a pause on the line. The sound of faint breathing, a hesitation that he could almost feel, stretches for a moment.
He leans back in his chair, letting the phone rest lightly against his ear. The office is immaculate, everything in its precise place: sunlight slicing across the polished mahogany desk, soft shadows pooling along the deep charcoal walls, a carefully trimmed Bonsai at the corner that somehow seems to mock his own rigid order. Abstract art hangs evenly, wealth whispered, not shouted.
Normally, he wouldn’t pay attention to a random wrong number. Normally, this would be background noise. And yet… the fire in that voice, the raw honesty, the way they’d just unloaded everything without pause—it sticks with him. He can’t help the faint smirk curling his lips. That someone could speak that way, that openly, makes him sit a little straighter in his chair, curious.
Even with his father breathing down his neck about marriage, pushing for the kind of arrangement he’s never wanted, he finds himself reluctant to end this call so quickly.
His fingers drum lightly on the desktop, precise and calm, betraying none of the sudden spark of intrigue he feels. The call is still live, but he doesn’t speak yet. He lets the silence hang, letting the energy from the other side fill the space, listening, thinking.
Maybe, he thinks, quietly sipping the untouched espresso at his desk, this isn’t just a wrong number. Maybe this is going to be… interesting.