Page 47 of Lose You Twice

Our breakup wasn’t dramatic. That was part of the problem.

No huge fight. No paragraph that explained why we were done. No final line that could be screenshotted and dissected later.

Just shorter replies. Longer gaps between said replies, not just from him, but from both of us.

A promise to call that turned into tomorrow, then next week, then silence.

I tap his name before I lose my nerve.

The old thread opens.

There are no recent messages, obviously. Just old ones I should have deleted years ago and never did.

Kai: got out of practice late. call you in ten?

Wren: I’ll probably be asleep but try anyway.

Kai: you say that like you won’t answer half-conscious and insult me.

Wren: That’s my love language.

Kai: another reason why I love you.

I stare at the screen too long.

Then I scroll to the bottom, where the empty text box waits.

I can do this. It’s simple.

A necessary adult boundary discussion with the boy who once kissed me so thoroughly in my driveway until my dad flicked the porch light three times and threatened to install a sprinkler system.

I type:

Hey.

Nope. Delete.

I type:

I got a job working for the hockey team, sorry bud.

Too abrupt. Delete.

I type:

We should talk.

I stare at that. It feels too heavy.

I take a breath and type before I can make it worse.

Wren: We need to chat. You free?

I read it once. Twice. Then I hit send. The message turns blue.

Delivered.

For three full seconds, I do not breathe. Does he still have my read receipts turned on?