the sharp trill of your phone cut through the silence, dragging you out of the half conscious haze you’d been floating in. you blinked against the dim glow of the screen, your stomach twisting the second you saw her name.

sevika.

your pulse stuttered. it had been weeks. weeks of stubborn silence, of avoiding places where you knew she’d be, of swallowing down the urge to reach out first. and now, she was calling you.

you hesitated, thumb hovering over the screen. you should ignore it. let her sit with whatever she was feeling. but something in you—the same reckless, desperate part of you that had always belonged to her—made you answer.

“…hello?”

for a moment, nothing. just the low hum of the city behind her, the distant murmur of voices. then, a breath.

“shit.” her voice was rough, lower than usual, slurred just enough to make your chest tighten. “didn’t think you’d actually pick up.”

you swallowed. “then why’d you call?”

a dry, humorless chuckle. “good question.”

you heard her shift, imagined the way she was probably sitting—elbow on a sticky bar top, head tilted back, fingers gripping the glass too tightly.

“you’re drunk,” you muttered.

another breath, this one heavier. “yeah.”

you sat up, gripping the phone tighter. “sevika, what do you want?”

“i dunno.” a pause.

“no, that’s a lie.”

the city noise blurred into the background as your heartbeat pounded in your ears.

“been thinkin’ about you,” she admitted, voice quieter now, like she hated saying it out loud. “kept tellin’ myself i wouldn’t call, but then i got a few drinks in me, and…” she exhaled sharply. “turns out, i’m a fuckin’ coward when i’m sober.”