I don't even know how many times I've checked my phone since yesterday. Probably a thousand. Every few minutes, my fingers instinctively unlock the screen, swipe open Instagram, and go straight to that one corner of hope—"Request Sent". Did he accept it? Did he see it? Did he ignore it?
No update.
Still pending.
Ugh.
And the worst part? I can't even tell Luna. Because she'll roll her eyes dramatically, call me hopeless, and say something like, "You're obsessed, Freya. Chill. It's just Jasper."
Just Jasper? No. Not for me.
For me, Jasper is the boy who made time pause when he came in front of me . The boy whose social media I practically hunted for like a detective on a secret mission. The boy who doesn't even know I exist... or maybe now he does, thanks to that little friend request I sent one day ago in a moment of reckless bravery.
But let's be honest, this whole thing—me spiraling into madness—was driving me insane. So, to distract myself, I did the one thing I normally avoid like the plague: homework.
Not just mine. Luna's too.
Yeah. That desperate.
We had this big history project due, one we'd both conveniently ignored because we were too busy crafting stories for my totally fictional "book character" (aka Jasper in disguise). But today, I opened my laptop, created a fresh document, and got to work. Pages and pages of historical facts, timelines, freedom fighters, revolutions—it didn't matter. Anything to keep my mind off him.
I wasn't even doing it for marks. I was doing it to stop the chaos in my chest.
But even then… in between paragraphs, I'd switch tabs. Just to check. Still pending.
Still nothing.
My hands ached from typing, my eyes burned from staring at the screen for too long, but the moment I shut the laptop and collapsed onto my bed, there he was again in my thoughts—Jasper. His face, his smile, the way he tilted his head just slightly when he was thinking, all replaying on an infinite loop.
I stared at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me, listening to its soft whirring sound. My mind was still buzzing with "what ifs" and imaginary conversations. I don't even remember when I fell asleep.
"FREYAAAA!"
I jolted awake as someone called my name, dragging me out of my thoughts like an emergency alarm. My eyelids fluttered open slowly. My room looked hazy in the evening light, the curtains letting in an orange glow from the setting sun.
It took me a second to register the voice.
My grandmother.
She was standing at the door, arms crossed, giving me that classic "you're wasting your life" look.
"It's already 6 PM and you're still sleeping?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Don't you have school work to finish?"
I rubbed my eyes and sat up slowly, groaning. "Yeah, I remember. I'll do it. Don't worry," I mumbled, my voice still thick with sleep.
She sighed but didn't push further. "Okay. Finish it before dinner. No excuses."
"Got it," I replied.
She nodded and walked out of the room.
As soon as she left, I picked up my phone lazily, yawning. Just a reflex.
And then… everything changed.
"ACCEPTED."
For a second, I didn't breathe. I blinked twice. Thrice.
There it was. Jasper had accepted my friend request.
I sat up so fast I nearly flung the blanket across the room. My heart was pounding so hard I could actually hear it. I stared at the screen like it was a ghost. My brain completely froze.
He accepted.
He saw it.
He didn't ignore me.
What. Is. Happening.
I wanted to scream into a pillow, jump on the bed, do a victory dance—but I didn't. I stayed still, biting my lip and trying not to squeal like a five-year-old on Christmas morning. But inside?
Chaos. Fireworks. A full-blown parade.
I checked his profile like it was some sacred scroll. His posts, his bio, his followers. He hadn't posted anything new in a while, but that didn't matter. He accepted. That was enough.
Now came the real question—Would he text me?
I mean, that would be the next logical step, right? Accept… then text.
But what if he didn't want to? What if he accepted it by mistake? Or worse, what if he's one of those people who just accepts everyone but never talks?
I chewed on my thumb nail, thinking, overthinking, rethinking.
Should I wait?
Should I text first?
What if I sound desperate?
I must have spent a good 30 minutes just staring at our empty chat screen. No message from him. No "hey." No "hi." Not even a single emoji.
Eventually, I decided.
Tomorrow. I'll text him tomorrow.
It gave me time to plan. To rehearse. To pretend I wasn't a bundle of nerves pretending to be cool.
That night, I finished the remaining homework like a machine—every sentence fueled by adrenaline and anticipation. My grandparents noticed my strange energy, the bounce in my steps, the weird smile that refused to leave my face.
"Someone's in a good mood today," Grandpa joked at dinner.
"Must be the result of sleeping all day," Grandma added with a chuckle.
I just smiled, keeping the truth safely tucked inside. They didn't need to know. Not yet.