I was standing in the kitchen when my phone buzzed.
I glanced at the screen and sighed.
It was a message I didn’t have the energy to deal with.
So I locked my phone and went back to what I was doing.
I told myself I’d reply later.
I always did.
The message was from someone I hadn’t spoken to in a while.
We’d drifted apart quietly.
No argument. No closure. Just distance.
Part of me assumed it was another polite check-in.
The kind you acknowledge and move on from.
An hour passed.
Then two.
Something kept pulling at me.
So I picked up my phone again and finally opened the message.
It wasn’t small talk.
It was honest.
Uncomfortable.
Vulnerable in a way I wasn’t prepared for.
They admitted something I never knew.
Something that explained years of silence, tension, and misunderstandings.
I sat down.
For the first time, I realised how easy it is to rewrite people in our heads.
How often we fill in the gaps with our own assumptions.
I almost deleted that message because I thought I already knew the story.
I didn’t.
That message didn’t fix everything.
It didn’t magically undo the past.
But it changed how I listen.
How I pause before reacting.
How I remind myself that silence often hides more than indifference.
Sometimes, the message you avoid isn’t an interruption.
It’s an invitation to see things differently.
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