The kind of stillness that only came after a long day of laughter, messes, and tiny feet chasing through every corner of her world. Leah lay back on her bed, arm draped across her eyes, the fan above spinning lazy circles. Her nephew was fast asleep in the next room—dreaming, probably, of dinosaurs and juice boxes and being spun around until the world blurred into giggles.
Leah smiled faintly.
She loved him like he was hers. Maybe even more than that. Taking care of him had never been in her plan, but life didn’t always ask for permission—it just handed her things and trusted she’d carry them. And she always did. With full arms and a fuller heart.
But some nights, like this one, she felt the weight of it. The aloneness, not in the physical sense—there were always people, always needs—but the kind that sat in her chest when everything got quiet. That little ache that whispered, Who takes care of you?
Her phone buzzed once with a low battery warning, and she finally reached for it.
It took a second to find the message again. Just two lines, already a day old.
I saw your comment on a post. Here’s the link you might need.
Thank you.
She stared at her own reply, the one she’d sent without thinking, without feeling. It was distant. Cold, even. And it wasn’t her. Not really.
If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
Not when she’d read the article twice. Not when she’d saved the quotes. Not when it had actually meant something.
Her thumbs hovered, then moved slowly.
Um, yesterday my message seemed cold. Thankyouuu so much — I really enjoyed reading it.
She read it back. Cringed a little at the extra u’s. Sent it anyway.
Then tossed the phone onto the bed like it had burned her hand.
The moment passed. Or maybe it didn’t.
Because now, it wasn’t just the thank you she was thinking about.
It was the girl on the other side of the screen.
Elise didn’t expect another message.
By the time it came, she was halfway through her lunch break, sipping lukewarm coffee at her desk while the world outside moved too fast for her liking. Her inbox was full. Her to-do list untouched. Her girlfriend had called earlier, but the conversation had felt clipped—normal, but hollow.
When the notification lit up her phone, she thought it was another calendar alert. She barely glanced.
Then she saw the name.
Um, yesterday my message seemed cold. Thankyouuu so much — I really enjoyed reading it.
She blinked.
It wasn’t much. It wasn’t dramatic or poetic. Just a soft, awkwardly typed sentence with too many u’s and a little too much honesty. But it tugged at her in a way she didn’t expect. Like something cracked open—just a little.
Elise re-read it. Then again.
The first thought that came was: You didn’t have to say that.
The second: But I’m glad you did.
She didn’t reply right away. She didn’t know how. Compliments made her fumble. Kindness made her pause.
She flipped her phone over and let it sit face-down beside her coffee.
But she kept thinking about it.
Kept thinking about her.
She could almost picture Leah—messy bun, loud laugh, typing too fast. She didn’t know how or why, but the girl behind that message felt real. Like warmth left behind in a room after someone’s gone.
Elise closed her eyes for a second and let out a slow breath.
Something was happening.
And for once, she didn’t want to stop it.