The Ghost That Texted Back
844 Words
Lucas POV
I didn’t believe in signs.
But when her name flashed across my phone the next morning, right as I pulled into the warehouse parking lot, I felt something dangerously close to anticipation.
Isla:
Good luck at work today.
I stared at the message longer than necessary.
No one had texted me that in years.
Not in a way that felt intentional.
I typed back quickly.
You too. Don’t let customers bully you.
Her reply came with a laughing emoji.
It was small. Ordinary. But it settled somewhere deep in my chest.
The workday was chaos — shipments delayed, two staff members arguing over forklift schedules, paperwork stacked like a punishment.
Normally, I buried myself in work. It was easier than thinking.
But around lunch, I caught myself checking my phone.
Nothing new.
Why did that bother me?
I told myself to relax. We had talked once. It didn’t mean anything yet.
Yet.
At 3:17 PM, my phone buzzed.
I didn’t look at the name before opening it.
And that was my mistake.
Alyssa.
My ex-fiancée.
The name hit like an old bruise pressed too hard.
We hadn’t spoken properly in almost a year.
The last conversation ended with silence — the kind that feels permanent.
Her message was simple.
Hey. I know it’s random. Just wanted to see how you’ve been.
My jaw tightened.
Of course it was random.
She was the one who left.
The one who said I didn’t fight hard enough.
The one who said I was emotionally unavailable.
I locked my phone without replying.
The warehouse noise felt louder suddenly.
I told myself I wouldn’t answer.
There was nothing to say.
But five minutes later, it buzzed again.
I drove past your old place today. Made me think of you.
Old place.
The one we were supposed to turn into a home.
I inhaled slowly.
This was dangerous territory.
Not because I wanted her back.
But because unfinished things have a way of stirring something unsettled inside you.
And I hated that she still had the ability to interrupt my peace.
At 4:02 PM, another buzz.
This time—
Isla.
My manager yelled at me for something that wasn’t even my fault. I need chocolate.
A smile tugged at my mouth before I could stop it.
I typed back.
I would bring you some if I could.
Three dots appeared almost instantly.
Would you?
The question was playful.
But it carried weight.
Would I?
Yes.
Too easily.
Before I could respond, another notification slid down the screen.
Alyssa again.
Can we talk sometime? Just to clear the air?
I felt irritation rise in my chest.
Why now?
Why after months of silence?
I glanced at Isla’s unfinished message.
I made a decision that would later feel bigger than it should have.
I replied to Alyssa.
What do you want to talk about?
The response was immediate.
Us.
I exhaled sharply.
There was no “us.”
Not anymore.
But the fact that she thought there might be unsettled something I didn’t want to examine.
Across the city, Isla was probably still waiting for my reply.
I switched back to her chat.
Yes. I would.
Three dots.
Then:
Careful. I might hold you to that.
Something warm spread through my chest.
This felt easy.
Too easy.
And easy things have a way of getting complicated.
⸻
That night, I lay on my couch staring at the ceiling.
Two conversations sat open on my phone.
One was my past.
One was something new.
I knew which one felt lighter.
But I also knew I hadn’t told Isla about Alyssa.
Not because I was hiding something.
But because it felt unnecessary.
We weren’t serious.
We had only just started talking.
Still…
A small voice in my head whispered:
Secrets don’t start big.
They start small.
My phone buzzed again.
Alyssa:
I never stopped caring about you, you know.
I stared at the message.
My chest didn’t tighten.
My heart didn’t race.
I felt… nothing.
And that told me everything.
But instead of responding, I locked my phone.
Then I opened Isla’s chat instead.
Did you get your chocolate?
Her reply came with a photo.
A messy desk. A chocolate bar half opened. Her fingers visible at the bottom of the frame.
For a moment, I imagined being there.
Sitting across from her.
Watching her laugh about something insignificant.
And suddenly, the thought of my past trying to reappear felt irritating instead of nostalgic.
I typed carefully.
You look like someone who pretends she doesn’t need anyone.
There was a pause.
Then—
Maybe I just haven’t met someone worth needing.
That did something to me.
Something steady.
Something intentional.
And for the first time since Alyssa’s name had appeared on my screen…
I didn’t feel pulled backward.
I felt pulled forward.
⸻
But across the room, my phone buzzed again.
Alyssa.
I made a mistake leaving you.
And even though I didn’t respond—
I didn’t block her either.
And that, whether I realized it or not,
was the first c***k.
- Writer
