(now playing; M. - Anil Emre Daldal.)

Jeno doesn’t call you. He doesn’t text, doesn’t ask where you’ve been, doesn’t try to find you.

But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t think about it.

Some nights, when the world is quiet and his mind isn’t, he stares at his phone, at your name still sitting in his contacts. He never deletes it. Never change it. Just lets it stay there, untouched; like a wound that never quite heals.

He tells himself he wouldn’t know what to say even if he did reach out.

"Hey." "I miss you." "Do you ever think about me, too?"

Pathetic.

So he never calls. But he always wonders if you would pick up.

Until one day.

One day, you see his name in your notifications.

Not a message. Just a missed call. A single ring before he hung up.

You tell yourself it was probably a mistake. An accidental press of a button. Nothing more. Nothing less.

And yet, that night, as you lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, you can’t help but wonder—if you had answered, what would he have said?