Chapter 7: Five Days Before Valentine
Five days before Valentine's Day, everything felt closer.
Closer to love.Closer to hope.Closer to something neither Linda nor Mathilda could yet name.
The apartment was quieter than usual that evening. No loud music. No jokes echoing from the kitchen. Just the soft tapping of fingers on phone screens and the occasional sigh.
Linda sat on the edge of the couch, legs folded beneath her, phone resting in both hands. Mathilda lay on the floor beside the couch, her head propped up on a pillow, eyes glued to her screen.
They were both chatting—but differently.
Linda reread the last message she had received.
What are you afraid of most in relationships?
She stared at the question for a long time.
"That's a deep one," she murmured.
Mathilda glanced up. "Who asked you that?"
"The guy I've been talking to," Linda replied. "He doesn't ask small-talk questions."
Mathilda smiled. "That means he's serious."
Linda nodded slowly. "That's what scares me."
Mathilda laughed softly. "Of course it does."
Linda typed slowly, carefully.
I'm afraid of inconsistency. Of someone changing after I trust them.
She hesitated before sending it, then pressed send.
Her chest felt tight.
Across the room, Mathilda giggled quietly.
"What?" Linda asked.
Mathilda covered her mouth. "He just told me he talks too much when he's nervous."
Linda smiled. "That's… kind of cute."
"I know," Mathilda said. "I told him I talk too much when I'm excited."
Linda shook her head. "You really don't hold back."
Mathilda shrugged. "Why should I? If he's going to like me, it should be the real me."
Linda looked down at her phone again.
That thought lingered.
The real me.
For Linda, the real her had always been guarded. Calm on the outside. Careful with words. Afraid of being too much—or not enough.
Her phone buzzed.
Thank you for being honest, the message read. I value consistency too. I don't like games.
Linda exhaled slowly.
"That's good," she whispered.
Mathilda heard the relief in her voice. "He gets you."
Linda nodded. "I think he does."
The days before Valentine's passed quickly, marked by late-night conversations and early-morning messages. Good mornings. Good nights. Small check-ins that felt bigger than they should have.
Linda's conversations became deeper.
She talked about her childhood, about growing up learning to depend on herself. About being the strong one, the responsible one. About how hard it was to let people in.
"I don't like chaos," she told him one night. "I like peace."
Peace is underrated, he replied. I'm calm by nature. I prefer quiet happiness.
Linda smiled to herself.
Mathilda's chats were different—but no less intense.
She shared her dreams openly. Her love for laughter. Her fear of being forgotten.
"I pretend I'm carefree," she typed once, fingers moving fast. "But I actually feel things deeply."
I can tell, he replied. You have a soft heart.
She felt warmth spread through her chest.
Mathilda rolled onto her back, staring at the ceiling.
"Linda?" she called.
"Yes?"
"I think I'm really starting to like him."
Linda sat beside her. "That's good."
Mathilda turned her head. "Is it?"
Linda hesitated. "It can be."
Mathilda sighed. "I'm scared."
Linda smiled gently. "Me too."
They lay there in silence for a moment, both staring at the ceiling, both thinking about the people on the other side of their screens.
"What if they don't like us in real life?" Mathilda asked quietly.
Linda answered honestly. "Then it will hurt. But at least we tried."
Mathilda nodded slowly.
Later that night, Linda received another message.
What do you look for in a partner?
She thought carefully before replying.
Honesty. Emotional maturity. Someone who doesn't disappear when things get hard.
A few seconds passed.
Same, he replied. I've hurt people by pulling away before. I don't want to do that again.
Linda paused.
That was a confession.
A small one—but meaningful.
She typed back.
Thank you for saying that.
Mathilda, meanwhile, was confessing too.
"I get jealous easily," she admitted in a message. "I don't like pretending I don't care."
Jealousy comes from caring, he replied. As long as it's honest, it can be worked through.
Mathilda bit her lip, smiling.
"You see?" she told Linda later. "He understands me."
Linda nodded. "Just remember—understanding through a screen is different from real life."
Mathilda sighed. "You always do that."
"Do what?"
"Protect me," Mathilda said softly.
Linda didn't deny it.
The next day, five days before Valentine's became four.
Then three.
The conversations became routine.
Linda and her match spoke about work stress, boundaries, and future goals.
"I want stability," she typed. "Not drama."
I want a partner, not a project, he replied.
She laughed quietly at that.
Mathilda talked about music, memories, and affection.
"I love attention," she admitted without shame. "I like feeling wanted."
That's not a flaw, he said. It's human.
The apartment filled with energy—hopeful, nervous, electric.
But under it all, something subtle began to shift.
Linda noticed similarities.
Phrases.Timing.The way questions were asked.
She brushed it off.
Mathilda noticed too—but excitement drowned out suspicion.
"Do you ever feel like this is too good?" Mathilda asked one evening.
Linda nodded. "Yes."
"Then why keep going?"
Linda answered softly. "Because sometimes, good things happen."
Neither of them realized they were standing at the edge of something fragile.
Five days before Valentine's Day, secrets were shared.
Hearts were opening.
Trust was forming.
And somewhere between honest conversations and hopeful dreams, fate was quietly setting the stage for a collision neither friendship nor love would survive untouched.