Midnight Calls from Yesterday

It was 12:03 a.m. when Mia’s phone rang. Again.

She stared at the screen—“Unknown Number.” The same time. The same number. Every night for the past week. She never answered, but the sound still made her heart race. Like a memory trying to crawl its way back into her life.

Mia lived alone in her small apartment in Brooklyn. She had moved there six months ago, hoping the noise of the city would drown out the silence she had carried from home. But silence wasn’t something you escaped. Not when it was inside you.

The calls started a week ago—always at midnight. At first, she thought it was a prank or a scam. But no one ever spoke. Just silence. And yet, in that silence, Mia felt something familiar. Something she couldn’t explain.

Tonight, she picked up.

“Hello?” Her voice was soft, almost afraid.

Silence.

“Who is this?”

Still, no answer. Just the faint sound of breathing. She felt goosebumps rise on her arms.

“I know you’re there,” she whispered.

Click.

The call ended.

Mia stared at her reflection in the window. Her eyes looked tired. Her heart felt heavier than it had in months. She grabbed her old photo album from the shelf—something she hadn’t opened in years.

The first photo she saw was of her and Liam. Her brother. Her best friend. The only person who ever understood her. His smile lit up the page, and for a moment, she could almost hear his laugh.

He died two years ago. Car crash. One moment he was texting her "see you soon," and the next, he was gone.

She never forgave herself.

That night, she had missed his call.

Just one call.

One chance to say “I love you” or “be careful” or anything at all. But she was busy. She was angry. She let it ring.

Now, it felt like the past was calling her back—literally.

The next night, the phone rang again. 12:03 a.m.

She answered faster this time.

“Liam?” Her voice cracked.

More silence.

Then a sound.

A song.

Faint. Soft. But she knew it.

It was “Hey There Delilah.” The song Liam used to play on his old guitar. The one they sang together on long road trips when life felt like a movie.

Tears rolled down her cheeks.

“Why now?” she whispered.

No reply. Just the music. And then, the call ended.

That night, Mia didn’t sleep.

She walked to the old guitar Liam left behind. It was dusty, untouched since the funeral. She ran her fingers along the strings, trying to remember the chords. She played the first note. It felt like coming home.

The next night, she waited for the call. 12:03 a.m. sharp.

“Please say something,” she begged.

This time, the voice came.

“Mia...”

She froze.

“Liam?”

“I’m sorry.”

Her breath caught.

“I didn’t want to leave you,” the voice said. “But you have to let me go.”

“No,” she cried. “Don’t go. I’m not ready.”

“I know,” the voice said gently. “But holding on is hurting you.”

Mia sobbed.

“You were all I had.”

“You still have me,” Liam said. “In the songs, in the stars, in the way you laugh when no one’s looking. I’m there.”

The call began to fade.

“I love you,” she whispered.

“I love you too, little sis.”

Click.

Silence.

This time, it felt different.

Peaceful.

She didn’t cry the next night. She didn’t wait for the phone to ring. Instead, she took Liam’s guitar, opened the window, and played that old song. Her voice trembled, but she sang it all the way through.

And for the first time in years, Mia smiled.

She didn’t need the midnight calls anymore.

She had her goodbye.

________________________________________

Author’s Note:

Loss is a quiet kind of storm. It doesn’t always roar—it whispers at midnight, in the echoes of laughter, or in the stillness of a song. But healing begins when we choose to answer the call, even if it breaks us a little.