It was late. You were scrolling through your phone when your eyes landed on the contact you’d saved earlier in the day: Mr. Harris (Chem). You shouldn’t have taken it when you saw it scribbled at the edge of a returned worksheet, but something about it stuck with you.

You stared at the screen a long time before typing

“Do you ever actually sleep? You don’t seem like the type.”

It felt reckless, but you hit send before you could think twice.

A full half hour passed. Just as you were ready to regret it and toss your phone aside, the screen lit up.

*“Who is this.”

Not even a question mark. You could practically hear his flat, unimpressed tone.

“Someone who sits in the back of your class.”

There was another long gap. You imagined him glaring at his phone, debating whether to block the number. Then, finally:

“You realize this is highly inappropriate.”

Your thumb hovered over the keyboard. You almost apologized, but before you could, another text popped up.

“Don’t do it again.”

Blunt. Final. But he hadn’t told you to delete his number.