Left Unread

2:22 a.m.

Ping. Unknown number.

Lock screen—no preview—only a bubble.

You made it home?

Thumb hovers.

The brain negotiates.

I tap anyway.

No name. No emoji. No punctuation.

Just care without context.

Second ping.

Traffic’s bad by the bridge. take 8th

Wrong bridge; right unease.

Phone face down; heart face-up.

Dots bounce; dots vanish.

Relief snaps like thin ice.

Morning routine.

Coffee, news, three useless apps.

Messages show a contact: ARI.

I didn’t add it.

Card says: Unassigned.

Unassigned numbers shouldn’t speak.

Reboot dance.

Ghost persists.

Lunch text.

You’re wearing the blue one. nice

Blue shirt, yes—the default life.

Camera dot silent; nerves loud.

Who are you? (unsent)

Back to slides.

Deadline fossilizes.

5:30 p.m. Curiosity wins.

Search results: baby names; biotech; SIM-ghost jokes.

No Ari in my past; no Ari in my phone.

Night shift.

Tone changes—helpful, almost bossy.

Don’t forget the spare under the red pot

He won’t check there

breathe in fours

I check dirt.

Plant lies; bug judges.

No key. Only stubborn roots.

Ok. Try the mailbox then.

I don’t move.

Apartment listens; walls abstain.

Wrong person. Please stop.

Dots; pause; dots.

Sorry. Habit. You’re close, though

Close to what?

I mute with cooking videos; watch a perfect chicken.

2:22 breaks through Do Not Disturb.

I’ll walk if you want. Just say when

I almost typed When.

Delete; swallow; stare.

Tech support, but a stranger

Day three = plan.

Carrier call; hold music labyrinth.

Rep Jay answers—router energy.

“Unassigned?” he repeats.

Typing, frown, tap.

“Numbers don’t text from unassigned ranges.”

“So spoofed?” I ask.

“Could be,” he says. “But spoofed still ride a network. This one isn’t riding.”

“Meaning?”

“Feels… inside your phone.”

Nervous laugh; not helpful.

Block attempt fails.

“It’s not on any list,” Jay says.

“Swap the SIM if it keeps up.”

Ping while we talk.

Jay is nice

He likes mint gum

Don’t let them wipe your photos

Hand to camera roll—throat-protect reflex.

Backups run twice.

I ask the avoided thing.

Who are you?

Long pause.

Gears I can’t see.

You almost named me this

remember?

Floor drops an inch.

Napkin list.

Three names.

Ari is in the top tier of maybes.

You’re not real. (unsent)

Reply arrives—gentle weight on shoulder.

i know

Kettle on; ritual stabilizes.

Another ping:

But you still kept a spare

not a key

a place

under the red pot

I check again.

Dirt yields a USB drive—dusty, real.

Folder: BRIDGE.

Inside: voice memos—ours.

Laughing, arguing, and planning kindness.

Hope, pre-bruise.

See?

close

I don’t ask how.

Some answers shrink you.

Small help, stupid miracles

Wednesday:

Check the bus at 8:13. Front left seat

Front left = wallet + transit card + note: return to 5A.

Door opens; old man cries; world unsticks a little.

Friday:

take 12th. Avoid the storm drain

Manhole river; shoes saved; minutes gifted.

Sunday:

Bring flowers. not lilies

Sunflowers for Mom; brother appears without asking; silence holds two.

Questions → answers.

Pins, photos, tiny nudges.

Calling now saves a friendship.

Turn back dodges a mess.

Not all soft.

He left because you kept leaving first

You were so good at survival, you forgot how to stay

Not helpful.

Gray heart appears.

helpful later

Edge case turns edge threat.

A week in, twenty missed calls; midnight nerves.

Ari warns:

Don’t answer any doors.

Buzzer blares; fists pound; footsteps prowl.

Hand to knob—cold wires up arm.

Call Jay now

speaker on

don’t talk

I obey.

Jay listens to my hallway through a line.

Super wakes; police tap gently; danger drains.

Jay again, softer:

“Your number flags as originating, not receiving.

Texts look like they come from you before you get them.”

“That’s nonsense.”

“Same,” he says. “Also… if you swap the SIM, you may lose it.”

“Lose Ari.”

He doesn’t ask who.

Definition, finally

What are you?

Dots weigh time.

Answer lands like a key in a palm.

I am your unread

Yes.

Folder of avoided choices.

Badge you pretend you don’t see.

I keep permissions tight; lenses clean; backups sane.

I also answer living people sooner.

“I’m here” proves sufficient grammar.

Windy night; brother + me = new language.

Home, 2:22:

You can leave me now

Or you can keep me

Both are ok

If I leave?

You open other things.

If I keep?

You open this again when it hurts.

Press-and-hold.

Hide Alerts / Pin / Delete.

Thumb trembles.

I pin.

If I keep a haunting, I keep it honest.

Messages continue—less omen, more practice.

Call your brother back

breathe in fours

Water the plant

bring sunflowers

Keep the blue shirt

Advice = ordinary.

Ordinary = mercy.

Some nights I send nothing; let dots bounce.

A conversation can be present, not words.