Dear stranger stay

Chapter One: Dear Stranger

Mira stared at her phone screen for a long time before typing another message.

I wish you were here.

Her thumb hovered over the send button.

She knew it was pointless.

She knew no one would reply.

Still, she pressed send.

The message delivered.

Mira swallowed hard and leaned back against the wall beside her bed. The room was small and quiet, except for the sound of rain tapping against the window. Her books were spread across the floor, open to pages she had not read in over an hour.

She had an assignment due in two days. Her school fees were not fully paid. Her mother had called earlier, trying to sound strong even though Mira could hear the tiredness in her voice.

And her ex had blocked her again.

Not that she should care.

She was the one who told herself she was done with him. She was the one who promised she would stop checking his social media and stop hoping he would suddenly become the person he used to be.

But promises were easy to make when your heart was involved.

Mira opened the chat again.

The contact name was still there.

Amara 💛

Her best friend.

Her person.

The girl who used to know every little thing about her life. The girl who could make Mira laugh even when everything felt like it was falling apart.

Amara had been gone for almost a year.

But Mira still could not bring herself to delete the number.

Whenever life became too much, she sent messages. She talked about school, her mother, her fears, and all the things she could not say out loud to anyone else.

It was the closest thing she had to feeling like Amara was still listening.

Her phone vibrated.

Mira froze.

For a second, she could not breathe.

Her eyes moved slowly to the screen.

A reply.

From Amara’s number.

Unknown: You should stop sending messages to this number.

Mira sat up quickly.

Her heart began to race.

She read the message again.

Then again.

Her fingers shook as she typed.

Mira: Who is this?

The reply came after a few seconds.

Unknown: Someone who received your message.

Mira frowned at the screen.

Mira: This number belongs to my best friend.

There was no reply for a while.

Mira watched the screen, waiting for the typing bubble to appear.

Nothing.

Then, finally—

Unknown: Maybe it did once.

Her chest tightened.

She did not know why that reply hurt more than it should have.

She wanted to be angry. She wanted to tell him to leave her alone. She wanted to block the number and never open the chat again.

Instead, she typed:

Mira: She is dead.

The reply came faster this time.

Unknown: I’m sorry.

Mira stared at the words.

Simple.

Short.

But they felt more real than the empty comfort people had given her after Amara died.

She wiped her eyes quickly before another message appeared.

Unknown: Are you okay?

Mira almost laughed.

No one had asked her that in a way that felt real for a long time.

She looked around her quiet room. At her books. At the unfinished assignment. At the cracked ceiling above her bed.

Then she looked back at the message.

She did not know this person.

He did not know her.

Maybe that was why it felt easier.

Mira: I don’t know.

The typing bubble appeared.

Stopped.

Appeared again.

Finally, a message came through.

Unknown: You don’t have to tell me anything. But you shouldn’t be alone with whatever is hurting you.

Mira held her phone close to her chest.

For the first time that night, she felt something small and unfamiliar.

Not happiness.

Not peace.

Just the tiniest feeling that maybe someone was listening.

She looked at the chat again and typed the words that would change more than she knew.

Mira: Thank you, dear stranger.