The Space Between Replies
1010 Words
Isla POV:
I wasn’t the jealous type.
At least, that’s what I told myself.
Jealousy felt immature. Insecure. Loud. And I had worked too hard to become a woman who wasn’t ruled by loud emotions.
But something shifted after that day.
It started with something small.
Timing.
Lucas used to reply quickly. Not instantly every time — he had a job, I had a job — but consistently. Predictably.
Now there were pauses.
Longer ones.
Long enough for my mind to start filling in blanks.
At first, I brushed it off.
He’s busy.
He has a life.
Don’t be dramatic.
But when you begin to care about someone, silence starts to feel louder than words.
⸻
The next evening, I was finishing closing duties at the restaurant when I sent him a message.
Survived another shift. Barely.
Usually, he would respond with something teasing.
Instead, twenty minutes passed.
Then thirty.
I checked the message.
Delivered.
No reply.
I told myself not to look again.
I looked again.
Forty-seven minutes later, my phone buzzed.
Sorry. Just got home.
That was it.
No follow-up question. No joke.
Just… flat.
Something tightened in my chest.
I stared at the message, debating my tone before replying.
Long day?
Three minutes.
Five.
Ten.
Yeah. Bit hectic.
Hectic.
The word felt like a door gently closing.
I didn’t push.
I didn’t demand attention.
I had too much pride for that.
But I felt the shift.
And I hated that I noticed it.
⸻
The next morning, he didn’t send his usual “Good luck at work.”
It shouldn’t have mattered.
It was just a text.
But routines build comfort. And when comfort disappears, even slightly, your body reacts before your mind does.
By noon, I caved.
Alive over there?
His reply came five minutes later.
Yeah. Just sorting some stuff.
Some stuff.
Vague.
I stared at those two words like they might confess something if I looked hard enough.
I didn’t ask what stuff.
I didn’t want to sound needy.
Instead, I buried myself in work.
But something felt unsettled.
⸻
That night, he called.
Unexpected.
I almost didn’t answer out of stubbornness.
But I did.
“Hey,” he said.
His voice still did that thing to my chest.
But there was something different in it.
Distracted.
“Hey,” I replied. “You sound tired.”
“Just work.”
Silence stretched between us.
Not comfortable.
Not the same as before.
I leaned against my kitchen counter, staring at nothing.
“Is everything okay?” I asked casually.
Too casually.
“Yeah. Why wouldn’t it be?”
His answer came too quickly.
Too defensive.
I swallowed.
“No reason.”
Another silence.
I could hear faint background noise on his end. A television maybe. Or traffic.
He wasn’t fully present.
And I felt stupid for noticing.
“You’re quiet,” he said.
I almost laughed.
“You’ve been busy.”
That wasn’t an accusation.
But it wasn’t neutral either.
He exhaled softly.
“I told you. Work’s just been… a lot.”
Something in his tone told me that wasn’t the full truth.
I didn’t know why.
But I felt it.
And when you’ve been hurt before, your instincts sharpen.
You start listening for what isn’t being said.
We ended the call earlier than usual.
No lingering goodbye.
No softness.
Just—
“Talk tomorrow.”
“Yeah.”
The line went dead.
⸻
I stood there holding my phone longer than necessary.
It hadn’t even been two weeks since we matched.
Why did this feel like something slipping?
You barely know him.
Exactly.
That was the problem.
You can’t lose something you don’t have.
And yet—
It felt like I was already losing something.
⸻
The next day was worse.
I saw something that made my stomach drop.
I wasn’t looking for it.
I swear I wasn’t.
I opened i********: out of boredom during my break.
His profile popped up in my suggested feed.
I hadn’t followed him yet. Neither of us had crossed that line.
But curiosity got the better of me.
I clicked.
And there she was.
Alyssa.
Tagged in old photos.
Engagement pictures.
Smiling next to him.
Hand on his chest.
I froze.
I hadn’t asked about his past in detail yet.
He mentioned a long relationship.
But seeing it was different.
Seeing her was different.
She was beautiful.
Confident.
Polished.
The kind of woman who looked like she belonged in a perfectly curated life.
My thumb hovered.
Then I made a mistake.
I clicked her profile.
Public.
Recent post.
Three days ago.
A quote.
“Sometimes you don’t realize the value of what you had until it’s almost gone.”
Three days ago.
My stomach tightened.
That was around the time he started replying slower.
Don’t jump to conclusions.
But the timing felt… sharp.
Coincidental.
Too coincidental.
I locked my phone quickly, heart racing in a way I didn’t want to admit.
This is ridiculous.
You’re not exclusive.
You’re not serious.
You’re not his girlfriend.
And yet—
Why did it feel like someone had stepped into something that was just starting to grow?
⸻
That night, he texted first.
How was your day?
Normal.
Like nothing had shifted.
I stared at the message.
I could ignore it.
Play games.
Pull back.
Instead, I typed:
Fine. Saw your ex on i********:.
Three dots appeared instantly.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
My heart thudded against my ribs.
Finally—
Why were you looking at my i********:?
The defensiveness hit me like cold water.
I blinked at the screen.
That wasn’t what I expected.
I typed slowly.
It popped up. She posted something interesting.
Long pause.
Long enough for my thoughts to spiral.
Then—
We don’t talk like that anymore.
Like that.
Not “we don’t talk.”
Not “there’s nothing there.”
Like that.
The space between those words felt enormous.
I swallowed hard.
But you do talk?
The typing bubble appeared.
Stopped.
Appeared again.
And in that silence—
I felt the first real c***k.
- Writer
