Page 75 of Sunflower Persona
“I could ask him about his day,” I muse.
That is the sane option here. It’s an open-ended question—the forums I read said those are good for getting conversations flowing.
What’s the worst that could happen from one text? Gage could decide he made a mistake asking me out in the first place, tell me he never wants to see me again, and all of his friends block me on everything, leaving me completely alone again, but the odds of that happening are slim.
I think.
Realistically, he leaves me on read. I can deal with being left on read.
Fuck it.
I grab my phone, but my fingers freeze before I can craft a message. What do I say? Should I use emoji? Exclamation points? Those might make me seem too enthusiastic.
Why is this so hard?
I take a deep breath and type the first thing that comes to my mind and hit send before I can chicken out.
Hi.
“Hi.” Really. That’s the best I could do?
I throw myself onto my bed with a dramatic groan and prepare to wait, but the message is read before I can lock my phone, and three little dots pop up on the screen.
Hi.
The teasing is clear even through text. It would help if I had a game plan going into this. I start to type, then deletethe message, and then I do it again in an endless cycle of uncertainty.
What’s up?
My boyfriend’s text stops the worrying.
I can hear you overthinking through the screen.
Anxiety’s hold on my heart loosens as the next message comes through less than a second later. He double texted. That has to mean something, right? Maybe the games really are all in my head.
There’s only one way to find out.
I take a deep breath and let my fingers fly, blocking out the voice in my head telling me I’m being too much and spilling my truth.
I don’t know. I wanted to talk to you, but I couldn’t think of anything to say.
I find that hard to believe.
Nothing interesting, at least.
Again, hard to believe. Everything you say is interesting. You keep me on my toes. I like that.
I like you.
Shit. That was too much. His response comes through before I can backtrack on my admission.
I’ve got thirty before I need to leave for my shift at Cutter’s. Can I call you?
He doesn’t wait for my response before an incoming call pops up on my screen.
“Hi,” I squeak as I answer it, and a low chuckle comes through the line.
“Hey, Low.”
