The lights flickered once. Twice. Then, with a final sigh, the apartment was swallowed by darkness.
Lena sat frozen on the couch, the glow of her phone screen suddenly useless. A soft thump echoed from the kitchen as she reached out blindly, knocking over a glass in the process. The sound shattered the quiet, leaving her heart pounding louder than the night outside.
"Damn it," she muttered, reaching for the flashlight app on her phone, but the battery was dangerously low.
Daniel's voice crackled through the speaker. "Are you okay? Did the power just go out on your end?"
Lena nodded even though he couldn't see her. "Yeah. Everything's dead. You?"
"Same. I guess the storm finally caught up with us."
Rain began tapping insistently against the windows, a gentle drum that filled the sudden silence between them.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you with my call," Daniel said softly. "I thought… maybe we could talk? Since we both can't watch shows or scroll through our phones now."
Lena's fingers instinctively curled around the phone, her voice barely above a whisper. "Yeah. I'd like that."
The apartment felt different in the dark. Without the usual distractions, the air was heavy with quiet anticipation. Lena wrapped herself tighter in the throw blanket draped over the couch, the familiar scent of lavender calming her nerves.
Daniel's voice came steady but tentative, like a candle flickering in a draft. "Do you ever feel like the silence is louder than any noise?"
Lena smiled, eyes closed. "All the time."
They sat on opposite sides of the call, two worlds separated by glass and distance, yet closer in this shared vulnerability.
"I've been thinking a lot about us," Daniel admitted. "About what it means to be… open. Not just with words, but really open. Bare."
Lena opened her eyes and bit her lip. "Bare feels scary."
"It does." His breath hitched slightly. "But it's the only way I know how to be close to someone."
She nodded, the walls she'd built around herself beginning to crumble in the darkness. "I want that too. But I'm terrified of what might be exposed."
The minutes stretched into hours, and the rain outside became a gentle rhythm beneath their conversation.
Daniel told her about the dreams that haunted him, memories of abandonment that shaped his every choice.
Lena shared fears she'd never voiced aloud—the fear of never being enough, of losing herself in the process of loving someone else.
There were no distractions, no masks—just two people, stripped down to their rawest selves.
"Do you remember the first time we really talked?" Daniel asked quietly.
Lena smiled. "How could I forget? I almost threw my phone out the window."
He chuckled softly. "I was terrified you'd hate me."
"I was terrified of myself," she admitted. "But here we are."
By the time the power returned, flooding the room with warm light, something between them had shifted.
Lena looked at the phone screen, her heart lighter than it had been in weeks.
Daniel's smile was soft but sure. "Thank you for staying."
"For being brave enough to bare it all," she whispered.
And in that moment, across the miles and the glowing screen, they both knew they had taken the first real step toward something lasting.