WHEN THE WRONG BOY TEXTED ME

CHAPTER-2 "ACCIDENTALLY INTERESTING"

The next morning, my phone buzzed again. I groaned. I knew it was him before even looking at the screen. Kian. The name alone made my chest tighten. I should have blocked him yesterday and moved on with my miserable life, but no—he had a way of slipping in like an uninvited but impossible-to-ignore storm.

“Morning, Eva. Or should I say… stranger who already knows too much?”

I rolled my eyes.

Eva: “Good morning. You should probably stop texting me before I start charging you rent for invading my attention.”

His reply came within seconds:

“I’d pay. But only in chocolates. Dark chocolate.”

I laughed—aloud, despite myself. That laugh shouldn’t have happened. It was dangerous, because it made him win before even trying.

“So… why do you keep texting me?” I typed after a pause, trying to sound annoyed. “You said you’d disappear.”

“Disappear is hard when someone accidentally texts you instead of their ex,” he replied. “And when talking to you… feels kind of… right.”

My stomach fluttered in a way that screamed trouble. My rational brain shouted: Block him. Run. Do not fall into this chaos. But the part of me that had spent the last heartbreak crying over a boy who couldn’t care less was curious. In a way I didn’t want to admit, I wanted this chaos.

Eva: “Right… sure. Because strangers are always reliable.”

He responded instantly:

“Reliable? No. Entertaining? Yes. And maybe… if you let me, helpful too.”

I frowned at the screen. Helpful? What did that even mean?

The day passed in a blur. I tried to focus on school, on homework, on anything. But his texts kept popping up: little jokes, random observations, questions that somehow made me think about things I didn’t usually share. And slowly—just slowly—I realized he was paying attention to details. Not just the obvious ones. The little things.

He noticed that I hated group projects. He joked about my obsession with chocolate. He guessed, correctly, that I stayed up late listening to sad songs when nobody was watching.

“Stop,” I typed at one point, “you know too much about me.”

“I only know what you show,” he replied. “And trust me… I want to see more.”

I should have rolled my eyes. I should have blocked him. But I didn’t. Instead, I found myself thinking about him between classes, imagining him sitting somewhere, texting me with that ridiculous intensity in his words.

By evening, my mind was a whirlwind. I knew this was insane. This was a boy I barely knew, a “wrong-number” stranger who somehow wormed his way into my life. Yet, every message made my heart beat faster. Every pause in his replies made me check my phone obsessively. Every joke made me laugh even when I didn’t want to.

Then came the text that hit too close to home:

“Do you think people deserve a second chance after messing up?”

I froze.

My fingers hovered over the keyboard. My mind flashed back to Coco, to heartbreak, to betrayal, to nights I cried into my pillow, thinking I would never trust anyone again.

Eva: “Depends. What did you do?”

“…I messed up. Really bad. Showed up for someone’s birthday… with a girl who wasn’t mine. Long story. Stupid story.”

My heart skipped. Drama. I liked drama—but at this distance, it was safe.

Eva: “And now she doesn’t want to talk?”

“She blocked me, changed her number, told her friends I’m dead.”

I laughed—a short, incredulous laugh. Poor guy sounded like a walking disaster. And yet… somehow, I wanted to know more.

“Anyway… thanks, stranger,” he typed. “Talking to you felt… weirdly good.”

And just like that, the dangerous, chaotic storm that was Kian became my guilty curiosity. I knew I shouldn’t enjoy it. I knew I should stay away. But the thrill of something new, unplanned, and raw… was impossible to resist.