The Last Call:

It became precisely middle of the night when the phone rang.

Mira had just moved into her new condo—a quiet, dimly lit space tucked above an vintage book shop. She desired solitude, a place to forget the beyond. The rotary phone at the nightstand was vintage, a ornamental piece she’d discovered within the attic. It wasn’t related to something.

but it rang.

She stared at it, coronary heart thudding. The sound became sharp, planned. against her higher judgment, she picked up.

“hello?”

Silence. Then a voice, low and familiar: “You left me.”

She dropped the receiver. Her breath stuck in her throat. That voice—it was Jonah. Her ex-boyfriend. dead for three years. The following morning, she tried to rationalize it. strain, exhaustion, maybe even a dream. however that night time, the smartphone rang once more.

“Mira.”

She iced over. The voice become clearer now, tinged with sorrow. “You promised you’d live.” She unplugged the cellphone. It rang anyway.

Over the subsequent week, the calls continued. usually in the dead of night. constantly Jonah. once in a while he changed into angry, sometimes pleading. He referred to reminiscences they shared—matters simplest he could know.

Mira stopped slumbering. She started recording the calls, hoping to capture something tangible. however the tapes performed best static.

She referred to as the cellphone organisation. They showed: the line wasn’t lively. She smashed the telephone. That night time, it rang again. The suspense ate up her. She began seeing Jonah’s mirrored image in mirrors, listening to footsteps at the back of her. Her condominium grew colder, darker. One night time, she responded with trembling fingers.

“Why are you doing this?” she whispered.

Jonah’s voice changed into tender. “You forgot me. I consider everything.” the line went lifeless.

She tried to go away the rental, but the door wouldn’t open. home windows wouldn’t budge. The lighting flickered. The cellphone rang. This time, the voice wasn’t Jonah’s. It become her very own. Mira, you left him. You permit him die.

She screamed, throwing the phone throughout the room. It shattered. however the voice persevered, echoing from the partitions. She ran to the rest room, splashing water on her face. inside the mirror, Jonah stood in the back of her.

“You said for all time.”

She grew to become. no person become there. The final call got here a week later. “Mira,” Jonah said, “I’m waiting.” The road went silent. the following morning, acquaintances observed the condo empty. The door became extensive open. The phone sat on the nightstand, intact.

It rang once.

And even though the condominium remained empty, something lingered. The acquaintances spoke in hushed tones about the flickering lighting in the dark, the faint sound of a rotary phone ringing behind locked doors. a few claimed they saw Mira’s silhouette within the window, her head tilted as if listening, her hand attaining towards some thing unseen. The book place proprietor swore he heard her voice once, gentle and damaged, whispering Jonah’s call into the wind. however nobody dared input. The cellphone, untouched and unconnected, persisted to ring—constantly at nighttime, usually once. And in that single chime, there has been a disappointment too heavy to ignore, a suspense that by no means faded, and a love that refused to die. The condo had come to be an area where memory lived louder than silence, and where every unanswered call turned into a reminder that a few goodbyes are in no way very last.

The cellphone Still rings at nighttime—continually as soon as, in no way twice. And somewhere in the silence that follows, a voice still waits to be heard.