1:43 a.m.
Eira's phone buzzed once.
She'd been half-asleep, tangled in her blanket, one leg out for temperature regulation and full dramatic flair. Her dreams had been weird and forgettable.
But the buzz pulled her out.
She groaned, reached blindly for her phone, unlocked it without thinking—then froze.
One new message.
From: AresOfficial
She blinked.
Sat up.
No. Way.
She… died.
Not literally.
But in the overdramatic, chest-seizing, blanket-kicking way a person does when they wake up and see a message from a literal global celebrity glowing on their screen.
Her soul left her body. Did a few cartwheels in space. Came back in through her left eye.
She blinked.
Once. Twice.
She stared at the notification, thumb hovering just above the screen.
"Was it a glitch? A bot? A prank?"
And then she read it.
"What if I told you… I've been waiting for someone like that for a long time?"
Cue: total mental shutdown.
Her body went stock still.
Blanket? Clutched to her face.
Breathing? Optional.
Pulse? Playing hopscotch in her throat.
Brain? Screaming in 47 languages.
"WAIT. WAIT WAIT WAIT—"
She rolled over, flopped on her back, stared at the ceiling like it owed her answers.
"He did NOT just say that. Nope. This is illegal. Someone arrest him for unsolicited romantic emotional assault."
She peeked at the screen again.
Still there.
Not a glitch.
Not a drill.
Her face? On fire.
Her heart? Melting.
Her stomach? Hosting a rave.
She whispered into the dark: "Okay. Deep breaths. Be cool. Be chill. BE SOMETHING OTHER THAN A FULL-BODY CRINGE."
But her thoughts were already spiraling.
What if this was a prank?
What if he sent it to five people?
What if he accidentally replied to her instead of some indie actress he was secretly in love with?
What if he meant it?
Oh god.
What if he meant it?
Her toes curled.
She was giggling. No—cackling.
And then panicking.
Full-blown midnight emotional chaos, with a side of sweaty palms and hoodie sleeves pulled over her hands like a 2008 Tumblr ghost of love.
She grabbed her phone again. Started typing.
"Sorry—what? What does that mean? Are you drunk? Were you hacked? Is this a dare? I'm panicking."
Deleted.
"I'm… honored? Terrified? Flattered? Considering writing poetry about this and that's your fault, sir."
Deleted again.
She threw her phone across the bed. Screamed into her pillow.
Then dragged it back like a raccoon stealing something from the garbage.
"Eira. Get it together."
She whispered into the silence
"I think you meant it."
Not because it made sense.
But because somehow, it did.
Somehow, it felt… real.
And terrifying.
And good.
So good, it made her afraid to touch it.
Because she didn't want to ruin the feeling.
She didn't want to scare him off. Or scare herself off. Or become another headline or screen-grab or mistake.
So she waited.
Held the silence like a fragile thing in her palms.
She stared at the message one more time.
Let it sink into her bloodstream. The softness in it. The realness.
Because yeah—he was Ares. The face. The voice. The storm.
But that message?
It wasn't from a celebrity.
It was from a boy.
A tired one.
A lonely one.
One who sounded like he hadn't said something that raw to anyone in a long, long time.
And she knew exactly what that felt like.
So she dropped the jokes.
Dropped the fear.
And finally, with fingers trembling but heart steady, she replied:
"Then maybe… we both waited for the same thing.
And neither of us knew it until now."
Sent.
Immediately screamed into her blanket again because WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT.
It sounded like a confession in a poem.
It sounded like something people quoted in black-and-white edits on TikTok.
It sounded dangerous.
But honest.
She placed the phone down like it was made of glass. Her heart was in her throat.
And then she laughed—half-hysterical, half-swoony.
A little wrecked.
A little in love with the idea of what was happening.
And whispered to the dark:
"If this ends in heartbreak, I'm suing his jawline."
*When the world's loudest voice answers your softest question… what happens next?