Chapter Nine – Words That Save Us
346 Words
Chicago was silent under the snow. Keisha sat on her bed, knees pulled to her chest, staring at the draft message on her screen. Her heart pounded so loud she swore it could wake her mom in the next room.
She whispered, “If I don’t send this… I’ll lose him.”
Her thumb pressed send.
The message flew:
“Dylan, don’t you get it? You’re not just some boy from DR. You’re the one I think about before I sleep, the one I look for when I wake up. Distance doesn’t scare me. Losing you does.”
Santo Domingo heat
Dylan’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. He almost didn’t check—it was past midnight, sweat sticking to his skin from the tropical air. But when he saw her name, his breath caught.
He read the message once. Twice. His chest felt like it might burst.
“¿Qué…?” he muttered, a smile breaking through his exhaustion. “She cares. She really cares.”
His fingers flew:
“Keisha, I was stupid. Perdón. I thought I was protecting myself, but all I was doing was pushing you away. You’re in my head every day, chica. More than basketball, más que todo.”
He hit send before fear could stop him.
Keisha’s side
Her phone lit up instantly. When she read his words, tears streamed down her cheeks, but she was smiling. Mariah, on call, squealed,
“I told you! Girl, he’s in love. He just doesn’t know how to say it!”
Keisha wiped her face, whispering, “Maybe I don’t either… but it feels real.”
The turn
For the first time in months, Dylan slept with peace in his chest. The sound of bachata outside didn’t bother him; it was almost like a lullaby.
And Keisha, under her snowy window, held her phone to her chest, whispering, “Goodnight, Dylan.”
They didn’t say the word love yet. But both felt it, sharp and undeniable. The red thread between them had just been pulled tighter—across oceans, across fear, across everything
- Writer
