It was 12:15 on a Thursday night and JP was doing what everyone does when you can’t sleep — start scrolling.
Then he stopped.
There she was. Nia. An IG post from two hours ago. It looked liked she had taken the picture in her bedroom, with soft lighting — one leg kicked straight up in the air, fingers wrapped around her ankle.
The caption just said “Still got it 💋” with 847 likes and a comment section that was on fire.
JP stared at the picture longer than you expect.
They hadn’t spoken in almost eight months.
Not since they grew apart the way people do sometimes — not with an argument, not with tears, just with distance and unanswered texts until both of them got the message. They were still cool. No bad blood.
But this photo?
He typed before he could talk himself out of it.
JP: Let’s see the great beyond 😏
He put the phone down. Forty seconds later —
Ding.
Nia: 😂❤️
He exhaled. She still had the same energy.
JP: Do I need my 🔭
Nia: 🤣😘
They went back and forth for a few minutes — nothing explicit. She asked him why he was up so late. He told her he couldn’t sleep. She said same — then typed:
Nia: You always been the right person at the wrong time, JP.
He sat with that for a second.
JP: Maybe time got tired of being wrong.
The typing bubble appeared. Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Nia: You still in the same place?
JP: Same city. Better apartment.
Nia: Look at you.
JP: Look at you. One leg in the air at midnight.
Nia: 😭 Boy I was just stretching!
JP: Nia.
Nia: JP.
JP: You know what you were doing.
A longer pause this time. He could almost see her smiling at her phone in the dark.
Nia: Maybe I missed you a little. Don’t make it weird.
JP: Too late.
She sent the laughing emoji again, then:
Nia: Goodnight.
JP: For now.
He locked his phone and set it on the nightstand. Stared at the ceiling fan making slow, circles. Somewhere between 12:15 and whatever time it was now, something had shifted — not dramatically, not like the movies, but in a quiet way that mattered.
To Be Continued…