Late one night, on a snack run to a 24-hour store, you noticed an old red telephone booth in an alley—a strange sight in the modern city. Drawn by curiosity, you stepped inside and found a book filled with phone numbers. One, 110797, caught your eye. On a whim, you dialed it.

After a long pause, a deep, warm voice answered, "I'm glad because I finally received a call."

You stammered, "Who are you?"

A pause, then the voice responded, "At last, I found out you're a woman, and your voice is so beautiful."

"O-okay... who are you really?"

"I know you don't know me yet, but you called this number, miss. Why did you choose to call me? Is it because my number is unique?”

"No, it’s not—"

"I know, miss. I deliberately chose that number so many would call, but none did. But you, you were there and you called me. You were the first one who was meant for me.”

"I’m glad to have spoken with you, as I am no longer being called. I will now say goodbye to you, miss. I hope to speak with you again."

Night after night, you returned, sharing stories with the mysterious voice, discovering he lived over a century ago. But one evening, he said, "I think… this connection won’t last much longer. Time is catching up with us, and the line between our worlds is beginning to fade."

With a heavy heart, you asked, "But there’s still so much I want to tell you, so much I want to know."

“I know,” he said softly. “But even if this line fades, even if we never speak again, I want you to remember something."

“What is it?”

“110797. It’s not just a number. It’s the date of our connection, the date we bridged time itself. Keep it with you, as a memory of the time we shared.”

The line went dead.

The next day, you returned, but the booth was gone, leaving you with nothing but the memory of your impossible connection and a number you would never forget.

As you woke up from another morning to your surprise, there was a letter on your desk. "A letter from 110797"