maheydaisy

 The room was quiet. Not the peaceful kind of quiet — the heavy one that presses against your chest and refuses to move. My phone lay face down on the table. No notifications. No missed calls. Just silence. I told myself I was busy . That I’d reply later. That some conversations could wait. That’s how silence begins — not as cruelty, but as comfort. When Silence Feels Easier Than Honesty There was a message I didn’t open. I saw the preview. I knew who it was from. Someone I once talked to every day. Someone whose voice used to calm my chaos. But life had gotten complicated. Feelings were messy. And silence felt… easier. So I chose it. Not replying felt safer than saying the wrong thing. Ignoring felt better than explaining. At least, that’s what I believed then. The Problem With “Later” Days passed. Then weeks. Then one day, I realized something terrifying — There was no later anymore. The chat was still there, frozen in time. The message unread. ...

 I found the chat at 11:43 p.m. Buried under years of silence. No profile photo. No recent status. Just a name I hadn’t typed in a long time. I stared at it longer than I should have. We hadn’t spoken in years. Not because we ran out of words — but because we ran out of courage. I told myself I wouldn’t open it. But my finger tapped the screen anyway. The last message was mine. “We’ll talk later.” Later never came. I scrolled up slowly, reading conversations that once meant everything. Inside jokes. Late-night talks. Promises we were too young to understand. I typed. Deleted. Typed again. Deleted again. Finally, I sent one line. “Hey. I hope you’re doing okay.” The message showed Delivered . No reply. Minutes passed. I locked the phone and placed it face down, pretending I didn’t care. At 12:17 a.m., my phone buzzed. “I was wondering when you’d message,” it said. My chest tightened. We didn’t talk about the past. We didn’t apologize. We didn’t explain...