The Number I Couldn't Text

For weeks after meeting Maya, nothing happened.

At least nothing visible.

No long conversations.

No late-night phone calls.

No dramatic turning points.

Life simply continued.

But inside my head, something had already started.

I kept thinking about her.

Not intentionally.

Not every second.

Just often enough to become annoying.

I would be at work and suddenly remember her face.

I would be travelling and wonder what she was doing.

I would be lying in bed and somehow end up thinking about that morning again.

The yellow nighty.

The glass of water.

The smile.

The strange feeling I couldn't explain.

The problem was simple.

I had no way to talk to her.

Or at least, that's what I told myself.

The truth was slightly different.

I probably could have gotten her number much earlier.

My Sister could have helped.

A few questions.

A little courage.

That was all it would have taken.

Instead, I did what I always do when emotions are involved.

I overthought everything.

Typical me.

I convinced myself that timing mattered.

That I needed a reason.

That I needed the perfect opportunity.

That I shouldn't seem desperate.

Looking back now, I realise I was just scared.

Not scared of her.

Scared of what the answer might be.

Because as long as I didn't message her, reality couldn't disappoint me.

Hope is comfortable.

Reality is dangerous.

Reality can say no.

Reality can ignore you.

Reality can prove that everything you've imagined exists only inside your own head.

And I wasn't ready for that.

So time passed.

Days became weeks.

Weeks became months.

Then one day, life handed me exactly what I wanted.

Her number.

Just like that.

After all the thinking.

After all the hesitation.

After all the imaginary conversations I had already rehearsed in my head.

I finally had it.

The funny part

I still didn't text her.

Not immediately.

I stared at her contact like it was some impossible challenge.

Open the contact.

Close it.

Open it again.

Close it again.

For someone who wanted to talk to her so badly, I was doing an incredible job of avoiding it.

I kept asking myself ridiculous questions.

What should I say

Should I wait another day

Should I send a joke

Should I introduce myself again

Would she even remember me

The questions never stopped.

The answers never came.

Eventually, I realised something embarrassing.

I had spent more time planning a simple text message than I had spent preparing for some

of the biggest decisions in my life.

That was when I understood something.

There was never going to be a perfect message.

There was never going to be a perfect moment.

There was only one choice.

Send it.

Or spend the rest of my life wondering what would have happened if I had.

So one day, I opened the chat.

Typed a single word.

Hi.

That was it.

Months of hesitation.

Months of courage-building.

Months of overthinking.

Reduced to two letters.

Hi.

Then came the waiting.

The longest waiting period of my life.

Every notification made my heart jump.

Every vibration of my phone felt important.

Every few minutes I checked the screen.

Nothing.

Then checked again.

Still nothing.

I started creating problems that didn't exist.

Maybe she was busy.

Maybe she hadn't seen it.

Maybe she didn't remember me.

Maybe sending the message was a mistake.

Then finally, a reply appeared.

Hi.

One word.

One simple word.

Most people would look at that conversation and see absolutely nothing.

I saw possibility.

I saw hope.

I saw a door opening.

Because for the first time, Maya wasn't just a memory.

She wasn't just a girl I thought about.

She was a real conversation.

A real person.

Someone I could talk to.

Someone I could get to know.

Someone who could surprise me.

Someone who could disappoint me.

Someone who could change my life.

Of course, I didn't know any of that then.

At that moment, I was simply happy she replied.

Ridiculously happy.

Embarrassingly happy.

The kind of happy you don't tell people about because they'll think you've lost your mind.

Maybe I had.

Because the truth is that the conversation itself wasn't special.

Not at first.

There were no confessions.

No flirting.

No signs from the universe.

Just two people talking.

Yet sometimes the biggest stories begin in the smallest ways.

A glass of water.

A phone number.

A message.

A reply.

Looking back now, I think that's what made those moments beautiful.

Neither of us knew where any of this was going.

Neither of us knew what we would become to each other.

Neither of us knew how deeply our lives would eventually become connected.

We were just talking.

And somehow, that was enough.

The girl in the yellow nighty had become a contact on my phone.

It didn't seem important at the time.

Years later, it would feel like the beginning of everything.