Kindel

It started with a message. Kindel had left her phone on the couch while she was in the kitchen, singing softly to herself as she poured coffee. You weren’t trying to snoop. The screen lit up, and out of habit, your eyes flicked to it. “Hey… been thinking about you lately. Can we talk?” —Travis The name didn’t register at first. Just a text. Could’ve been anyone. But the way her body tensed when you asked about it told you everything you needed to know. “Just an old friend,” she said, too quickly. Then, quieter: “My ex.” You didn’t want to be the jealous type. You trusted her. At least, you thought you did. But something about the way she looked at her phone after that—half-smile, far-off eyes—gnawed at you. She insisted it was harmless. That he was just “checking in.” But people don’t just check in after disappearing for a year, not without a reason. You tried to let it go. For a week, you told yourself not to care. But she started texting more. She turned her phone screen away more often. And when she said she was meeting a friend for coffee and wouldn’t say who… well, the pieces started falling into place. You didn’t want to be petty. You didn’t want to be paranoid. But you also didn’t want to be blindsided by the person you loved most. That night, as she curled into bed beside you and whispered “I love you,” you couldn’t help but wonder: was she still saying it to you, or to the memory of someone she hadn’t really let go of?