The First Call
561 Words
Isla POV:
I didn’t expect to look forward to his messages.
That was the first problem.
It started small. Morning texts.
“Good luck at work today.”
No man had ever wished me luck for something as ordinary as work.
But he did it consistently.
Every morning.
It became routine.
And routines are dangerous when you start depending on them.
Three days after we matched, he asked:
“Can I call you tonight?”
My stomach tightened.
Calling meant hearing his voice.
Hearing his voice meant this was becoming real.
Texting had a safety net. You could think before replying. You could pretend you weren’t nervous.
A phone call didn’t give you that luxury.
I stared at the message for five minutes before replying.
“Maybe.”
He sent a laughing emoji.
“Is that a yes or a soft rejection?”
I smiled at my phone.
“8:30. I finish late.”
His reply came instantly.
“I’ll call.”
That confidence both irritated and intrigued me.
⸻
At 8:27 PM, I was in my car outside my apartment.
Why was I nervous?
It was just a voice.
8:30.
My phone lit up.
Lucas calling.
I took a deep breath before answering.
“Hello?”
There was a slight pause.
Then—
“Hi.”
His voice was deeper than I expected.
Calm. Slightly rough. Not rushed.
It did something to my chest I wasn’t prepared for.
“Hi,” I repeated, softer this time.
For the first minute, we both laughed awkwardly.
Then something shifted.
The conversation flowed.
He told me about a worker who showed up late again.
I told him about a customer who complained about the air conditioning like it was personally attacking her.
He laughed properly then.
Not polite.
Real.
I liked that sound.
There was something grounding about him. He didn’t try to impress me. He didn’t exaggerate stories.
He just… talked.
After twenty minutes, I found myself sitting on the hood of my car, staring at the dark sky.
I forgot I was supposed to be cautious.
Forgot I had rules.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
“Depends.”
“Why did you almost not swipe right?”
My heart skipped.
Because you looked safe.
And safe is dangerous when you’ve been hurt.
Instead, I said, “You looked too normal.”
He laughed softly. “Is that bad?”
“It means you’re either stable… or hiding something.”
Silence.
Not awkward.
Thoughtful.
“I’m not hiding anything,” he said finally. “But I’m not perfect either.”
That honesty unsettled me.
Most men tried to appear flawless in the beginning.
He didn’t.
After an hour, he said quietly, “I like talking to you.”
My chest tightened.
Too soon.
Too direct.
I pulled back instinctively.
“We barely know each other.”
“I know,” he replied. “I still like it.”
The simplicity of that answer made it hard to argue.
When we finally ended the call, I sat there for another few minutes.
My phone felt warm in my hand.
I told myself not to get attached.
Not this fast.
Not this easily.
But that night, as I lay in bed replaying his laugh in my head…
I knew something had shifted.
And shifts like that don’t happen without consequences.
- Writer
