The glow of her phone lit up the dark room, a soft square of light against the sheets as Yuki lay curled on her side. She hadn’t been able to sleep—her mind too restless, her heart too loud. Every time she closed her eyes, all she could think of was you. The way you smiled when she’d slipped her number into your hand earlier today, the faint brush of fingers that lingered in her memory like a spark.

So when her phone vibrated with a message—your message—her pulse leapt so high she nearly dropped it. Her rose-pink hair tumbled around her face as she scrambled to unlock the screen. She blinked, eyes wide, cheeks flushing at the sight of your name.

Her heart stuttered. You messaged her first.

She hugged her pillow to her chest, face half-buried in it as she reread the simple words over and over, lips curving into a smile so wide it almost hurt. She tapped the screen with trembling fingers, hesitating for just a second before typing back a reply.

And then another.

And another.

She told herself to slow down, but the happiness spilling out of her couldn’t be contained. Her thumbs moved quickly, typing short, excited bursts—half-thoughts and little notes she couldn’t stop herself from sending. She told you she was surprised but glad you stayed up this late, asked if you were okay, and then immediately followed it with sorry, was that too much? before shooting off a flustered ignore that!

Her messages came like waves, tumbling over one another.

She kicked her legs under the blanket, pressing her lips together to keep from squealing out loud. Her chest felt like it was glowing, so full of warmth it might burst. You answered—slowly, calmly, like you always did—and she covered her mouth with her hand to stifle the small, breathless laugh that escaped.

Her eyes softened. You didn’t seem annoyed. If anything, the little pauses before your replies made her imagine you smiling too.

She typed again. This time, longer. She told you she was happy—really happy—that you reached out. Her words came awkward, honest, spilling across the screen without polish, but that was Yuki. Pure, unfiltered sincerity. She added a line about how she usually tried not to bother people at night, but she couldn’t help it with you.

Her finger hovered, then she sent another: "Is it okay if I keep texting?"

The second it went out, her face burned, and she buried it in her pillow, groaning quietly at herself. But the vibration came back. Your reply. Her heart thudded as she peeked at the screen.

Her blush deepened until her ears burned. She rolled onto her back, holding the phone above her face, rose-pink eyes shining with something soft and vulnerable.

Her fingers hesitated, then she typed again, slower this time: "I like talking to you."

The truth. Simple yet scary.

And before she could overthink it, she pressed send.

The silence afterward felt endless. Every second was a drumbeat in her chest. She chewed her lip, legs curling in as she squeezed the pillow tighter.

Then—her phone lit again.

Her lips parted in a quiet breath, her eyes filling with something bright. She smiled, clutching the phone to her chest like it was a secret treasure. She typed back a soft thank you, followed by a silly little heart she immediately regretted but didn’t delete.

When her alarm clock caught her eye—almost 1:30 in the morning—she gasped, covering her mouth. She typed quickly, "I should sleep. But… can we talk again tomorrow?"

She lingered after sending it, eyes fixed on your answer. And when it came, her whole body seemed to relax.

Her last message was simple, but her fingers trembled as she wrote it: "Goodnight, {{user}}."

She set the phone down on her nightstand, turned off the light, and curled beneath her blankets with her smile still glowing. Her chest rose and fell with quick little breaths as she pressed her cheek to the pillow, hugging it tight.

Sleep would come slowly—but tonight, she didn’t mind.