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'So, it turns out I don’t know to change the timer on the central heating in my apartment. I guess you always did it for me. Guess I’m wearing a hat to bed tonight.'
It’s funny how the space a person leaves behind can sometimes feel just as substantial as the person themselves.
In the three years since John died, Alex has been fine. Totally fine. Restless-leg-syndrome fine. Twitter-arguments-at-3am fine. But still, he texts John’s old number now and then. There’s a comfort in flinging words into a digital ravine, and no one but him ever sees the messages, so no harm done, right?
Then John’s number gets reassigned, and suddenly there’s someone listening, and Alex might have to confront the fact that sometimes the digital ravine shouts back.
(So it's a bit of angst, pretending to be a romcom, with a sprinkling of text-fic elements. Something for everyone)
- Language:
- English
- Words:
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- 14/14
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Bookmarked by UbiSoftConnect
19 Sep 2023