Chapter 2:The past (1)
1621 Words
The darkness was absolute, punctuated only by the faint glow of her phone on the bedside table. The room was still, heavy with the silence that only existed before dawn. Even the air felt asleep.
Then the ringtone shattered it.
Shrill. Persistent. Demanding.
Meg groggily opened her eyes, disoriented, her heart jumping before her mind could catch up. She blinked at the ceiling, trying to understand where she was.
The phone kept ringing.
She turned her head slowly toward the sound.
5:00 AM.
“Who could be calling at this ungodly hour?” she thought, her voice still trapped somewhere between sleep and irritation.
For a brief second, anxiety flickered through her chest. Calls that early were rarely good news.
She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and reached for the phone, squinting at the screen.
The name glowing back at her softened everything.
Alex Calling…
A small, reluctant smile curved on her lips before she could stop it.
Of course.
She cleared her throat and answered.
“Hey,” she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.
“Hey, sleepyhead,” Alex’s voice was bright and cheerful — too cheerful for 5:00 AM. It slipped through the phone and into her quiet room like sunlight through curtains. “I know it’s early, but I couldn’t sleep. I just wanted to hear your voice and also check up on you.”
She pushed herself into a sitting position, the bedsheets pooling around her waist. Her hair was tangled, her mind still foggy.
“You’re courting me hard, aren’t you?” she teased softly, trying to sound more awake than she felt.
It was easier to joke than to admit the truth.
From the very beginning, Alex had noticed the invisible wall around her. The cautious pauses before she answered personal questions. The way she brushed off compliments. The way she always left space between herself and attachment.
He had seen the trust issues she never explained.
And instead of pushing, he had chosen patience.
Alex chuckled on the other end. The sound was warm.
“Maybe a little,” he admitted. “But seriously, I just missed you. How’s your day going to be?”
Missed you.
Such a simple phrase.
Her chest tightened slightly.
“It hasn’t even started yet,” she replied. “You woke me up before it could.”
“That means I get the first part of your day,” he said easily.
She rolled her eyes, but her smile deepened.
They fell into conversation gently, like it was something they had been doing for years.
He asked about her plans. She told him she might help her mum later. He complained about not being able to sleep. She told him to stop overthinking at night.
They laughed quietly so they wouldn’t wake anyone in their separate homes.
Outside her window, the darkness began to thin. The sky slowly shifted from pitch black to deep blue.
As they talked, Meg felt the sleepiness slowly leave her body. In its place came something softer. Warmer.
Comfort.
Her voice, once flat and guarded, softened without her permission. She found herself asking questions too.
“Why couldn’t you sleep?” she asked gently.
A small pause.
“I was thinking,” he said.
“About?”
Another pause. Slightly longer.
“About where I want to be in a few years. About the people I want around me.”
She didn’t say anything.
The silence wasn’t awkward. It was heavy in a different way.
“And?” she prompted.
“And I realized I’d rather call you at 5 AM than overthink alone.”
Her fingers tightened slightly around the phone.
He always said things like that — not too much, not too dramatic — just enough to land somewhere inside her.
The sky outside her window turned lighter. Birds began their soft morning calls.
She hadn’t realized how much time had passed.
“Thanks for calling,” she said quietly, feeling a slight flutter in her chest. “You always know how to wake me up in the best way.”
The words slipped out before she could filter them.
There was a tiny shift in the silence after that.
Alex’s voice lowered slightly. Softer. More intentional.
“Anytime, love. Sleep tight, and I’ll talk to you soon.”
Love.
It was casual.
Or at least it sounded casual.
But Meg felt it settle somewhere deep.
They stayed quiet for a few seconds, neither rushing to end the call.
Then she whispered, “Okay. Goodnight… I mean good morning.”
He laughed lightly. “Go back to sleep. I’ll text you later.”
When the call ended, the room felt different.
Still quiet.
But not empty.
She placed the phone back on the bedside table and lay down slowly, staring at the ceiling.
Her heart was beating faster than it should have been for someone who had just woken up.
5:00 AM wasn’t so bad after all, she murmured to herself.
She closed her eyes.
But sleep didn’t come immediately.
Instead, her mind replayed the call.
The way he said “I missed you.”
The way he called her love.
The way he always checked on her.
No pressure.
No manipulation.
Just consistency.
That was the dangerous part.
Consistency feels like safety.
And safety is addictive.
***
From that morning on, something shifted.
5:00 AM stopped feeling like an inconvenience.
It became a secret.
A ritual.
Some days he called.
Some days he didn’t.
But when he did, it felt intentional.
She began waking up minutes before five without realizing it. Her body adjusting quietly. Her mind anticipating.
She would glance at her phone before it rang.
And when it did, she would pretend she was still asleep.
“Did I wake you?” he would ask.
“Obviously,” she’d lie softly.
But there would always be that smile in her voice.
Her mother once asked why she seemed more cheerful in the mornings lately.
“Nothing,” she had replied quickly.
But there was something.
There was someone.
She didn’t tell her friends.
Didn’t post about it.
Didn’t romanticize it.
It felt too delicate to expose.
Alex continued walking into her life the same way he walked into her inbox — quietly.
He would remind her to eat.
Encourage her about admission.
Tell her she was stronger than she thought.
When she withdrew slightly — as she often did when things felt too close — he didn’t panic.
He waited.
That patience made her defenses confused.
Because she was used to pressure.
Used to men losing interest when she didn’t open up fast enough.
Used to attention fading.
But he stayed.
And every 5:00 AM call felt like proof.
Proof that she mattered.
Proof that someone was choosing her.
Proof that she wasn’t invisible.
She didn’t realize when those calls became something she depended on.
Didn’t realize when her mood started aligning with his tone.
If he sounded excited, her day felt lighter.
If he sounded tired, she worried quietly.
It was subtle.
So subtle she didn’t notice the shift.
One morning, when 5:00 AM came and her phone didn’t ring, she woke up anyway.
She stared at the ceiling.
Waited.
Nothing.
5:07.
5:12.
Her chest felt strangely empty.
She told herself it was silly.
He had his own life.
But still, she checked her phone.
No missed calls.
No messages.
She turned to her side, trying to ignore the slight ache forming in her stomach.
At 6:03 AM, her phone buzzed.
Alex: “Sorry. I overslept.”
Relief flooded her faster than she expected.
“It’s fine,” she typed back, trying to sound unaffected.
But her fingers had moved too quickly.
Too eagerly.
She had started looking up to five o’clock every day.
Without knowing.
Without planning.
Without guarding herself properly.
5:00 AM had become more than a time.
It had become a doorway.
And she was stepping through it willingly.
- Writer
