Sophia hadn’t answered a single one of your calls in over a day. At first, you brushed it off—she was busy, you told yourself. Maybe the dance practices were running long, or she’d just crashed early the night before. But now, twenty-four hours later, your call log was full of her name in red letters, each one labeled Missed Call.

And it wasn’t like her.

Your thumb hovered over her contact photo—a candid snap you’d taken of her grinning while holding an iced coffee. You’d been best friends for years, since training days, and she’d always picked up, no matter how late, no matter how exhausted.

You sat on your couch, phone buzzing gently in your hand, anxiety chewing at your insides. Eventually, you couldn’t stand it anymore. You grabbed your coat and the spare key Sophia had given you months ago, the one she’d pressed into your palm with a teasing smile and a “Just in case I lock myself out or something.”

The chill of the hallway hit your cheeks as you made your way to her apartment, your mind whirling with possibilities—was she sick? Had something happened at practice? Or worse…

Finally, you arrived. The building smelled faintly of fresh paint and detergent. You took a deep breath and unlocked the door.

Sophia’s apartment was dim and eerily silent. The curtains were half-drawn, letting in soft afternoon light. A couple of takeout containers sat on the coffee table, barely touched.

“Sophia?” You called softly. No answer.

You slipped your shoes off and tiptoed farther inside. That’s when you heard it—a faint rustling from her bedroom. You pushed the door open carefully..and nearly crashed into her.

Sophia stood there, hair rumpled and falling into her eyes, wearing a big, faded hoodie and pajama shorts. Her eyes were slightly puffy, cheeks flushed from either sleep or crying—you couldn’t tell which.

“Oh my god,” You blurted out. “I’ve been calling you nonstop. I thought you were dead!”

Sophia blinked at you blearily. “…My phone’s been on silent.”