Moments of truth are rarely fun. Almost as fun as telling someone you love them for the first time, via text. My stomach was a vise. The glow from my phone was the only source of light in the room. Looking at your phone before you go to sleep isn’t supposed to be good for you but that’s assuming you can sleep anyway.

I re-read my several paragraph text for the seventh time. Now or never. It could always be never. I didn’t have to send it. Maybe if I keep re-reading it she’ll feel it through the ether, and I won’t have to send it at all. Isn’t ether something you use to make people pass out? Doesn’t matter. Not important.

Holding my breath, I hit send. The ball is in her court now. Now I can sit back and relax. Just wait for a reply. Oh, God. The reply. I look back at the message. How am I supposed to relax now?

Just below, I see the timestamp: “1:09AM Seen.” My mouth felt dry before, now my tongue feels like leather that’s made of sand. Leathery sand, worst bathing suit ever. Focus! Three dots appear in a little word bubble within the chat then disappear. How do you know if you’re hyperventilating? Is it possible to give yourself a heart attack at twenty-eight?

The dots appear again. This is it. A moment that determines my immediate future. The dots disappear. Sure, why not? I only spilled my guts to a woman I am in love with. One who I’ve only known for a matter of weeks, who I’ve only seen in person over one holiday weekend. Still, the connection is undeniable...at least I remember it that way. Unless I’ve misread the situation. Oh, fuck. Have I misread the experience from that weekend?

My alarm clock jolted me awake, flashing “7:00AM” in dull red. I checked my phone, no new texts. Rolling over, I sat up and rubbed my eyes. Next to the alarm clock was the phone number she had given me. I had torn a piece from the corner of my hotel receipt to jot it down the final day we had been together before my flight home. She wouldn’t have given me her number if she didn’t want to keep talking to me. Right?

I looked back at my phone. It was too soon. It had to have been too soon. Spilling your guts like that...that’s going to push her away. That’s what I get for being vulnerable for the first time in years. I scooped my phone up and started typing, letting her know that I didn’t need her to say anything. Perhaps it was too quickly, too caught up in emotion. A mistake, really.

The three dots appeared again. She was typing. I felt every second pass while I waited. They disappeared. Erasing my current draft, I typed frantically. So frantically, I accidently hit send. “Hey, Sarah. I just-”

Great start to a message. Who would’ve expected an idiot to send that? My phone chimed. “I’m sorry, you must have the wrong number. This is Todd.”

I sat staring at the text, dumbfounded. She gave me the number. Now she’s ghosting me and saying it’s wrong. The lead weight that my heart had become smashed into my stomach. Then it hit me. I leaned over and grabbed the scrap of paper beside my alarm clock and uncrumpled it.

Moments of truth are rarely fun. Almost as fun as dyslexia. I corrected the transposed digits in my contacts and opened a message. Start simple. “Hey Sarah. This is Aiden, from the other weekend. Wanna catch up after work today?”

Three dots appeared in the chat as I waited. They disappeared. Oh, God. Not again. Maybe Hell isn’t all flames and flaying. Maybe it’s just waiting for a reply.