A STORY BY NASEER
Mara’s phone buzzed at 11:42 p.m. It was an unsaved number. She almost ignored it, but the message glowed on her screen:
“I’m outside. Do I knock, or are you still mad?”
Her stomach tightened. Clearly, a wrong number.
She thought about replying with something snarky, but instead typed, “I think you’ve got the wrong person.”
A pause. Then: “Maybe. But maybe not. Depends, do you like late-night coffee?”
She laughed in spite of herself. It had been a long week. Her boss piled deadlines. The apartment was too quiet, and her mind too loud. For some reason, the stranger’s words felt like a thread tugging her out of the fog.
They began texting. Not about anything earth-shattering but favorite books, the worst pizza toppings, whether cats were secretly plotting world domination, and somehow, the conversation felt real.
Days passed, then weeks. The stranger’s name was Henry. He lived two cities over. They hadn’t met in person yet, but every evening, her phone would light up, and suddenly, the loneliness didn’t weigh so heavily.
One night, she finally asked: “What if this was never a mistake? What if the universe wanted us to misdial?”
His reply came fast, like he had been waiting:
“Then I’d say it’s the best wrong number I’ve ever called.”
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