My mum's voice carried a soft thread of longing, tugging at something tender in my chest. I missed her too—missed baking side by side, our laughter rising with the smell of warm bread, missed strolling through shops with her, missed catching those random little videos of her after long shifts in her nurse's uniform. The ache of it caught me off guard.
"Visit?" I echoed, blinking. "Mum, it's only been two weeks since I was home."
The thought alone exhausted me. The road trip always drained me, and with Jacob and I not speaking, borrowing his car was no longer an option. The idea of buses and trains, of dragging myself all the way to the countryside, made me want to burrow deeper beneath my blanket.
"Uh… next month, I suppose," I said finally, running a hand through my tangled hair. "I'll do my best to come by."
"Okay, take your time. But try to catch up with your siblings—they've been asking about you."
"Mum," I groaned softly, "we literally talk every day in the group chat, remember?"
Well, not every day. But often enough.
Ever since my eldest sister had created the chat and named it Good Kids, the four of us had turned it into a ritual. Morning check-ins, dumb memes, gossip. A way to laugh at our parents without them ever finding out.
"Oh, right. How could I forget?" she chuckled, her laughter warm through the line. Almost on cue, she slipped into gossip about the neighbor's divorce, words tumbling out quick and familiar while my body begged for sleep. I smothered a yawn, tuning in only halfway. Truth was, I never cared for them—the man was far too nosy for my liking, the woman far too sharp, her aggression always grating. I had thought they were a perfect match. It was sad they were getting divorced.
Finally, she paused. "You still sound sleepy."
"Yeah," I admitted, my chest sinking at the thought of why. "I had a long day yesterday."
"Alright, I'll let you go. Talk later, okay?"
"Yeah. Tell Dad I said hi." A pang of homesickness caught me off guard. "And… I love you, Mama."
"Of course, Little Pear. I love you too."
The nickname made me wince, as it always did. Still, I whispered a quick goodbye and hung up.
Sinking back against my pillows, I let out a heavy sigh.
"You seem… down. Is everything okay?" Sarah's voice broke through the quiet. She was standing by the door, her brows drawn tight with concern.
"Yeah," I said quickly, forcing my voice into something light. "I'm fine."
I handed her the phone, but she didn't move, her eyes still on me—searching.
"So…" She tilted her head. "How was your date with Lucien? You promised to tell me about it today, and I am not letting you off until you do."
The question knocked the breath out of me like it always did since that night. My heart screamed to spill everything—the dinner, the cavern, the howls in the dark—but the thought of her barrage of follow-ups, and worse, the inevitable I told you so, locked my jaw.
"It was fine," I lied, my words thin and brittle.
Before she could press further, I grabbed my own phone, thumb hovering over the Roped app. My heart stuttered with a fragile hope. Maybe Lucien had texted. Maybe he'd explain everything.
But his silence stretched, cold and suffocating.
Each unanswered message I'd sent festered into something sharp and bitter. The longer the gap grew, the more it twisted inside me—anger, confusion, fear.
It was the same story with Jacob. Same silence. Same void.
Am I the problem?
The thought gnawed at me, shame curling low in my stomach. Why did men keep ghosting me? Was I too much? Too flawed to be loved?
The screen blurred as I blinked back tears.
I thought I might throw up. Maybe it was just leftover period symptoms. Maybe it was heartbreak.
Either way, I couldn't stop the question from repeating, cruel and relentless.
What's wrong with me?
As those questions swirled in my mind, I felt the weight of my insecurities pressing down. Tears threatened to spill, but I held them back, knowing Sarah's eyes were on me.
"Aren't you going to say anything, Allison?" she pressed, impatience and worry tangled in her voice.
I couldn't bring myself to meet her eyes, fearing that if I looked up, the tears would fall. Instead, I clung to my phone like a lifeline, burying myself in its screen as if it held the answers to everything.
The last thing I wanted was to break down in front of her; the very thought of it sent a shiver through me. She had warned me, but I never learned.
My phone lit up, and my heart skipped.
Lucien's name glowed across the screen, his message illuminating the darkness. A surge of emotion crashed through me—heart sinking, breath tumbling out loud and shaky, palms damp as my pulse galloped.
In an instant, the heavy fog of sadness and self-loathing lifted, replaced by something far more dangerous—sweet anticipation and aching excitement.
Lucien: Hi, baby girl.