THE LAST TEXT

The night was warm, the kind of evening when the air smelled faintly of dust and fried food from the corner shops. Emily lay on her bed, scrolling absentmindedly through i********: stories, when her phone buzzed. It was a text from Jason. Her lips curved into a small smile. Finally. He had been distant all day, not replying to her earlier messages. But the smile faded as she read his words : Jason (10:42 pm): I need to tell you something... but don't hate me . Emily sat up straight, her heart suddenly drumming. Her fingers hovered over the screen. Don't hate me? What does that even mean She typed quickly: Tell me what? Why would I hate you But before she hit send the typing bubble appeared on his end-then disappeared. Reappeared. Disappeared again. "Come on, Jason..." she whispered, staring at the screen as if her will power could force him to finish the message Minutes passed. She waited biting her lip.The uneasiness in her chest grew. She dropped the phone on her lap and reached for her earbuds, thinking maybe she was overreacting. Jason sometimes sent dramatic texts when he was stressed. Maybe it was nothing. Then her phone rang. Not a call. Not a text A news alert. Her eyes flicked over the notification-and froze. Breaking news: A car crash has been reported near the Old Bridge Road. Victim identified as 18-year-old Jason Miller. The phone slipped from Emily's hands. "No...no, no, no," she muttered, grabbing it again, rereading the notification, praying she misread the name. Her breath grew shallow. The walls of her room seemed to close in. "Emily-have you heard?" Kayla's voice was breaking."Jason... there was an accident. He didn't make it." The phone nearly fell again. Emily shook her head violently, though Kayla couldn't see. "No. He just texted me. He just-he was about to tell me something. He can't be..." Her words collapsed into sobs That night, Emily sat on her bed, staring at her phone screen until her eyes stung. The text was still there. The last words she could ever get from him. I need to tell you something... but don't hate me. And beneath it her unfinished reply. She whispered to the empty room, "What were you going to tell me, Jason?" The screen dimmed. The night grew heavier. And the question burned in her chest like a wound with no healing.