Somewhere Quiet

Chapter 2: The Three Dot Panic

My phone felt like a hot coal in my hand.

I stared at the glowing screen, reading the text over and over until the words blurred into meaningless shapes.

Unknown: Hey. It’s Elijah from the choir band. Sister Grace gave me your number—said you’re leading logistics for Saturday’s setup? We need to go over the roster before tomorrow morning. Let me know when you’re free to talk.

Elijah.

The 6'1", dark-skinned boy from my midnight fantasies—one of four ridiculously handsome brothers who always walked into church like a high-fashion dynasty—was literally sitting in my phone's inbox right now. He had typed those words. His fingers had pressed the keys to send that exact message directly to my line.

My heart was beating so violently I was genuinely worried my lungs were going to collapse.

Okay. Breathe. Just breathe.

I scrambled to hit the "Save Contact" button, typing in Elijah (Choir) before immediately erasing the "(Choir)" part. Too formal? No, keep it neutral. I saved it as Elijah with a plain blue heart emoji—then panicked and deleted the heart emoji altogether.

What if he somehow sees the emoji on w******p? Is that even possible? God, I am so pathetic.

A second notification popped at the top of my screen. Joy was calling.

I pressed answer and brought the phone to my ear, my voice coming out as a strained squeak. "Joy?"

"GIRL!" Joy shouted, her voice booming through the speaker. "Tell me you're looking at the roster! Tell me you saw—"

"He texted me," I whispered, clutching my blanket to my chest as if someone in the house might overhear us.

Silence dead-dropped on the other end of the line for two whole seconds.

"Who texted you?" Joy asked, her voice dropping an octave, though I could already hear the mischievous grin spreading across her face. "Wait... do not tell me..."

"Elijah," I squeaked out. "Sister Grace gave him my number for the Saturday logistics setup. He wants to go over the roster." I blurted out of excitement and anxiety. I don't know how that's possible, but I couldn't hold the feeling.

"NO WAY!" Joy shrieked into the phone. "The pretty boy from the choir band has your line? The tall, deep-voiced god himself? What did he say? Did he send a smiley face? Did he call you by name?"

"No! It's complete business!" I hissed, sitting up straight on my bed, clutching my blanket tighter. "He just said 'Hey. It’s Elijah...' and asked when I'd be free to talk. Joy, what do I do? I'm shaking. I can't even type 'Hello' without my thumbs sweating!"

"Okay, calm down, calm down," Joy coached, taking a deep breath at her end. "First rule: do not reply instantly. If you reply in ten seconds, he'll know you were staring at your phone waiting for him."

"It's already been three minutes!"

"Good. Wait until five minutes," Joy commanded. "And keep it short. Professional. Cool. Do not use exclamation marks! Exclamation marks scream 'I've been in love with you since primary school!'"

"Right. No exclamation marks," I repeated like a military chant. "What should I say?"

"Just say: 'Hi Elijah. I'm free now. What do you need?'"

"No! 'What do you need?' sounds rude!" I argued, running my fingers through my hair. "What if he thinks I'm mean? What if he decides he doesn't want to work with me?"

"Girl, he is a guy! He's not dissecting your punctuation like you are!" Joy laughed. "Just send a polite, relaxed text. You're the Head of Logistics, remember? Act like the boss you are."

"Okay. I'm hanging up to type it," I said, my chest tight.

"Call me the second he replies!" Joy yelled before the line went dead.

I stared back at the chat window.

11:42 PM.

I tapped the text box. My keyboard popped up.

I typed out: Hi Elijah! Good evening. Yes, Sister Grace mentioned it. I'm available to review the roster whenever you are ready!

Too eager. Way too eager. Erase, erase, erase.

I tried again: Hey Elijah. Sure, I have the roster here. Send it over.

Too cold. What if he thinks I'm dry?

My fingers hovered over the screen. Deep breath. Channel your inner calm, unbothered girl, humming.., misunderstood , little miss unbothered,......by Arya —like I was actually not anxious. I was the girl who didn't spend last night clutching her feet in bed "ironically" after walking past him on the church stairs.

I carefully typed:

Me: Hi Elijah. Yes, Sister Grace mentioned it. I have the logistics list with me, we can go over it whenever suits you tonight.

Simple. Polite. Professional. Zero exclamation marks.

I closed my eyes, held my breath, and hit SEND.

The little single gray checkmark turned into a double checkmark almost instantly.

My stomach dropped into my toes. He was still in the app.

Within three seconds, two blue checkmarks appeared. He read it.

Then, those terrifying, beautiful words appeared under his name at the top of the chat:

typing...

I slammed my phone face-down onto my mattress and threw my hands over my mouth to smother a scream.

He was typing back.

The three little grey dots flashed in my imagination like a countdown timer to an absolute meltdown. I stared at the back of my phone case, my heart hammering against my ribs, waiting for the buzz that would change everything about Saturday.