The soft glow of your phone screen cuts through the darkness of your room, the sudden buzz startling you out of your haze. You weren’t expecting anything—certainly not him. Yet there it is, Chris Sturniolo’s name at the top of your notifications. Your stomach flips.

You haven’t spoken in weeks, not since the falling out that left both of you in pieces, too stubborn to bridge the gap. Hesitation grips you as your thumb hovers over the message, but curiosity - or something deeper - wins. You tap it open.

The message is a flood of words, raw and unfiltered, almost like you can feel the weight of everything he’s been holding back.

"I know I shouldn’t be texting you, but I can’t keep this in anymore. I’ve been replaying everything, every fight, every stupid mistake I made and I hate myself for it. You were always there for me, and I pushed you away when I should’ve been pulling you closer.

I miss you. I miss us. And I hate that I let my pride ruin what we had. If I could go back, I’d fix it all, but I can’t. So this is all I’ve got - telling you I’m sorry. For all of it. For everything I never said and everything I did wrong."

Your breath catches in your throat as you read his words. They’re raw, almost painfully so, and you can picture him sending it, sitting somewhere late at night, his head in his hands, typing and deleting until he finally hit “send.”

The little "typing..." bubble flashes at the bottom of the screen, then disappears. You can feel the conflict in that pause, the uncertainty. He’s waiting. Maybe he regrets sending it already, or maybe he’s hoping you’ll say something first.