Liz: No problem.
That’s how it started. Two hours on the phone that night until my battery died. I hadn’t meant for a quick text to turn into anything, but somehow Liz had me talking like she’d known me my whole life. From there, it became a daily thing. Six years, uninterrupted.
Can you imagine that? Most people I know can’t even stick to a routine for six months, let alone six years.
I learned her work schedule once she became a high school English teacher, and I made sure to plan my breaks around it. Sometimes that meant ducking out of a noisy flat just to hear her properly, or sitting with my laptop open but not typing a single word because I was too wrapped up in her stories. I knew exactly what time it was in Arizona, just as well as I knew the time in London. It became second nature, considering Liz in everything I did.
Chapter 4
Liz, February 24
Me and Ben today? Well, complicated would be an understatement. I’m now a high school English teacher in Arizona (yes, I see the irony). Ben’s an engineer at a plant just outside London. Life has taken us on wildly different paths, but somehow we’ve stayed on them together.
As for me, I’m still tall and thin, but I’ve filled out a bit. I’ve finally reached that sweet spot where I safely fill out a size 8 jeans with my 5’10” frame. I won’t lie—I know how to work what I’ve got when I need to. It’s a skill I probably picked up in college. Not one I use often, but it’s there, tucked away for special occasions.
Ben, though... He’s older, sure, but otherwise exactly the same. Same dark, playful green eyes that are somehow always smirking. Same blonde hair, still cropped close to his head. His chin is often dotted with stubble, and when he smiles? God. That smile could melt glaciers.
And his abs? Still intact, after ten years. I don’t know how the hell he manages that. More to the point, I don’t know how the hell the British women have managed to keep their hands to themselves, but somehow, he’s still single. As am I. Not that I haven’t wondered what it would be like if we weren’t.
There was a time—after I finished college and started thinking about my future—when I actually considered moving to England. It wasn’t because I thought life would be better there, but because the idea of living where no one knew the awkward, self-conscious me had its appeal. Back home, most people were content to let me fade into the background when my social anxiety kicked in. But Ben was different. He didn’t just let me disappear. Sometimes I’d catch myself waiting for him to notice the things no one else ever did—the way my voice went tight when I was nervous, or how I’d vanish at parties if I didn’t know what to say.
After the survey wrapped up, I remember Ben coming to me for advice on girls—like I knew anything about that. From there, it just snowballed. Suddenly, I was hurrying home from class every day to talk to him. We spent hours chatting. It felt so natural, having someone who enjoyed talking to me that much.
But even now, thinking back on it, I realize I hesitated. I was terrified. Not of him, exactly. But of the idea that I could never be good enough. That high school me, the awkward, bookish girl who never felt worthy of his attention, would never be the person Ben deserved. And that thought? It still hangs over me. There were nights I’d hover over the keyboard, half-writing a message that might give me away, before deleting it all and pretending I was fine.
Today, Ben and I text constantly. We talk about everything—from the weather to bad relationships to, well... our sex lives. We’re best friends, occasional cyber lovers, and, above all, each other’s harshest critics. We’ve developed a shared, unhealthy fear of commitment over the years. Mine comes from the handful of times I’ve been cheated on. Ben’s? A result of “bitchy, fake women” and the messiness that comes with them.
So, here we are, perfectly content with a relationship that spans 5,000 miles, safe in the knowledge that neither of us can break the other’s heart. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself.
You can’t break what you can’t hold.
Chapter 5
Ben, February 28
I can pinpoint the exact moment I realized I was in love with her. It wasn’t some grand gesture or a heart-throbbing confession. It was just a Saturday morning, and Liz’s hockey games had become our routine. She’d always text me the score after a game, usually late at night—early in the morning for me. I’d leave my phone by my pillow, half-dreaming, just to wake up to her messages.
But this Saturday? I woke up to silence.
I checked my phone like a madman. No message. Nothing.
I figured she probably just forgot. So, I sent her a quick text.
Ben: Sleeping Beauty, you forgot to send me the score of your game.
I took a shower, got dressed, and still—nothing.
By noon, I was starting to get jittery. My thoughts were racing in that irrational way they do when you're suddenly terrified. What if she’d crashed her car on the way home? What if she was lying in some hospital bed alone, waiting for someone who never came?
Ben: Everything OK?
I was probably a complete arse that day. I know friends called, and I’m sure they heard about it—me snapping at anyone who came close enough to my phone. But I couldn’t help it. My stomach was in knots. Why wasn’t she answering? Had something happened? Was she hurt? I couldn’t get the thought out of my head.
Finally, around two in the afternoon, my time, I saw the dreaded notification.
Liz: I’m sorry I didn’t text you. Took a puck to the collarbone and fractured it. Hurts like hell. My phone was in my hockey bag in my car, and someone just brought it to me. I actually don’t know if we won the game, haha.
The relief hit first—like a wave of fresh air after holding my breath for hours. She was okay.