There’s a longer gap before the next message.
Christina
Emma just reminded me you guys can't check your phones during rescues, so ignore my earlier message if it sounded like I expected an immediate reply.
I blame low blood sugar and emotional vulnerability.
Another pause.
Christina
Also, I cannot believe I briefly considered the possibility that you would ghost me when I literally watched you walk out of a café to go save someone on a mountain. That is a newpersonal low.
And then, because she is Christina:
Christina
Anyway. Text me whenever you’re back and no longer busy being heroic.
A few seconds later:
Christina
Not that I’m calling you heroic. Don’t let that go to your head.
Another pause.
Christina
Okay, maybe a little heroic.
I stare at the screen longer than necessary, reading her messages again even though I already know what they say.
I can picture her as she wrote them. Sitting somewhere with her phone in one hand, probably talking out loud to herself. Frowning. Correcting herself. Refusing to pretend she hadn’t briefly spiralled.
Emma just reminded me you guys can't check your phones during rescue…
Also, I cannot believe I briefly considered the possibility that you would ghost me when I literally watched you walk out of a café to go save someone on a mountain.
A slow warmth spreads through my chest.
She doesn’t hide the messy parts. Doesn’t pretend she’s above doubt or embarrassment. She just… acknowledges it and moves forward.
Anyway. Text me whenever you’re back and no longerbusy being heroic.
I snort quietly.
Heroic.
The word sits strangely in my chest.
She saw me less than twenty-four hours ago, kneeling on my bathroom floor with my head over the toilet. She saw me unable to stand properly. Unable to string together a sentence without sounding like an idiot.
She saw all of it.
And she still wrote that.
A slow warmth spreads through my chest, equal parts disbelief and something dangerously close to hope.