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About 3 A.M.
My phone finally lit up. It was a notification, a snap story.
I don’t even hesitate. My thumb’s already moving, heart hammering faster than I want to admit. I opened it.
She’s in the bathroom mirror, holding her phone just above eye level. Mia’s beside her, both of them flushed, laughing, cups in hand and neither of them dressed like the night’s just winding down.
My girlfriend’s wearing a black top I’ve never seen before barely a top really. It’s a strappy thing that crosses over her chest in a way that hides nothing and suggests everything. Nipples ready to burst out with one wrong movement. Low cut, loose, the kind of thing you tug back into place every few seconds and pretend not to notice riding up. Mia looks equally as good, in a tiny white semi sheer tank and a smirk that says she’s the one who talked her into this outfit.
In the background, blurred but definitely present, are two guys standing near the door — talking, maybe watching. One has a drink. The other is looking right at her through the mirror. No caption. I let the story loop Over and over. She doesn’t message. Doesn’t say anything. I stared longer than I should. My mind fills in the silence.
I wake up to a text this morning:
“Last night was something else. Things got a little more complicated than I expected. Let’s just say I wasn’t alone for long, and the night blurred into a mix of laughter, touches, and unexpected moments. I kept thinking about you, though, how much I wanted you there to see it all, to be part of it. Somehow, even in the chaos, it felt like a strange kind of freedom. But this morning, I woke up missing you more than ever. Can’t wait to explain everything when I see you.”
Can’t wait to hear from her directly about all that happened when she gets home tonight.
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