Waiting On a Text

Maybe

The next few days went on normally. Until one evening, Toby didn't sound like himself.

Toby: today was not my day

Zuri was halfway through highlighting something in her notebook when she stopped. She read the message again. Toby complained all the time — traffic, his manager, the office people who didn't know how to send a proper email. But today was different.

Zuri: what happened?

The reply didn't come immediately. When it did, it was longer than usual. His manager had changed something at the last minute — a task he'd spent most of the afternoon on had to be redone. Then he'd gotten stuck in traffic on the way back, and by the time he finally got home, he was too tired to be properly annoyed anymore. Nothing serious. Just one of those days when every small thing seemed determined to make the next one worse.

Zuri read all of it before replying. She didn't know what she was supposed to say. She wasn't particularly good at comforting people — usually, when someone was upset, she worried more about saying the wrong thing than about actually helping. So she kept it simple.

Zuri: sorry about that

Zuri: you should sleep early today

Toby: you're sounding like a mother

She smiled. Zuri: then listen to me

Toby: yes maam

She laughed quietly. Zuri: good

A pause. Then: Toby: thanks

She frowned slightly. Zuri: for what?

Toby: listening

She looked at that for a moment. Zuri: you're welcome

That was it. No long conversation, no attempt to magically fix his day. But later, once she'd put her phone down, she found herself thinking about it anyway. Toby was usually the one asking the questions — how was her class, had she eaten, why was she still awake, how was the assignment going. Tonight, he'd come to her with something of his own. And she hadn't minded at all being the person he told.

The next morning, at 4:31 a.m., Toby sent: Toby: good morning

Zuri didn't see it until after six.

Zuri: hii morning.feeling better today?

His reply came while she was trying to get her clothes ready. Toby: much better, not like I have a choice

Zuri: good then

Toby: you checked in

She paused. Zuri: obviously duhh

He didn't reply immediately. She stared at the screen for a second, then put her phone away.

She wasn't waiting. She just wanted to know. There was a difference.

Saturday unfolded the way his Saturdays sometimes do now — a snap of himself still in bed, well past the hour he'd normally already be halfway to work.

Zuri: you're still in bed?

Toby: today is between my bed and I, maybe some video games too

Zuri: wow, look at you

Toby: I deserve it

Later, another message. Toby: ordered food

Zuri: lazy

Toby: recovering in my own way

Zuri: from what?

Toby: life

She laughed at that one properly.

Then, that afternoon, a picture — a package that had just arrived, something ordinary, work-related, the kind of thing that could have been anything. The caption underneath it read: thank you to my madam ❤️

Zuri looked at the picture for a second longer than she needed to.

Madam.

She knew what that probably meant. Or she thought she did. He'd mentioned babe before too, in passing — once in conversation and once on a snap — but never with any explanation attached, never in a way that told her whether she was supposed to pay attention to it. He'd never said I have a girlfriend. He'd also never said he didn't. And Zuri had never asked. So there was nothing, technically, to be confused about. Nothing, really, to even think about.

She looked at the picture once more, then locked her phone.

Zuri: nice

Toby: very nice. someone is taking care of me

Zuri: don't get used to it

Toby: too late

She set the phone down and didn't pick it back up for a while, the word sitting somewhere in the back of her mind without quite settling anywhere useful. Not confusion, exactly. Just a small, open question she didn't yet have the right to ask out loud.