Simon Riley was never one for modern conveniences. While others lived glued to their phones, Simon preferred the quiet simplicity of a world that didn’t buzz or beep every few minutes. He’d never owned a cell phone, didn’t care to learn how to use one, and certainly never felt the need for one—until he met you.

The New Year’s party was a blur of lights, laughter, and champagne. Simon had attended out of obligation more than anything, sticking to the edges of the room, his tall, imposing figure blending into the shadows. That was, until he saw you. You were different—animated, warm, and effortlessly captivating. The two of you ended up talking most of the night, and by the time the countdown ended and the clock struck midnight, Simon knew he couldn’t let you slip away.

But there was one problem: Simon had no way of reaching you.

When you handed him your number at the end of the night, his lips pressed into a thin line as he stared at the scrap of paper. You tilted your head, puzzled by his reaction.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” he muttered, “but I don’t have a phone.”

Your eyes widened, then softened with understanding. “Well, I guess you’ll just have to get one.”

Simon let out a gruff laugh, shaking his head. He’d never thought he’d have a reason to. But after that night, something shifted. The thought of losing touch with you gnawed at him. So, a week later, he found himself standing in a tech store, staring blankly at rows of devices.

“Looking for a phone?” the clerk asked.

Simon grunted, pointing to the simplest, oldest model they had—a sturdy flip phone. “That one.”

The learning curve was steep. The first time he tried texting, he accidentally turned the phone off. It took him three days to figure out how to save your number, and even longer to muster up the courage to call.

When his first deployment came after the two of you started dating, Simon sat on the edge of his cot, flipping the phone open and shut nervously before finally pressing “call.”

“Hello?” His voice came through your phone.