A late-night conversation that slowly reveals not everyone online is who they claim to be
The message arrived at 12:14 a.m.
Evan had been half-asleep on the couch, the television humming quietly in the background, when his phone buzzed on the coffee table.
He blinked at the screen.
Unknown Number.
He almost ignored it.
But curiosity has a funny way of nudging people awake.
He opened the message.
Unknown:
Hey. Are you still awake?
Evan:
Who is this?
Unknown:
Wow. Cold start. No hello?
Evan:
I’m serious. Who is this?
Unknown:
You saved my number.
Evan:
I promise you I didn’t.
Unknown:
Well that’s awkward.
Evan:
Yeah a little.
Unknown:
Maybe you forgot.
Evan:
Trust me. I didn’t forget someone texting me after midnight.
Evan sat up slightly. The room smelled faintly of leftover pizza and cold coffee.
Probably just a wrong number.
Still… the conversation had already started.
Unknown:
Okay. Let’s try again. Guess who.
Evan:
I don’t play guessing games with strangers.
Unknown:
Strangers? That hurts.
Evan:
Then remind me who you are.
Unknown:
Let’s say someone who knows you.
Evan:
That doesn’t narrow it down.
Unknown:
You live in apartment 3B.
Evan froze.
He looked toward the dark hallway leading to his front door.
Evan:
Okay. That’s not funny.
Unknown:
Relax. I’m not outside your door.
Evan:
Then how do you know where I live?
Unknown:
People notice things.
Evan:
That’s creepy.
Unknown:
Only if you make it creepy.
Evan’s thumb hovered above the keyboard.
He debated blocking the number.
But something tugged at him.
Curiosity again.
Curiosity was often a terrible decision.
Evan:
Fine. If you know me, tell me something about me.
Unknown:
You teach history at Oak Ridge High.
Evan:
Okay that’s public information.
Unknown:
You drink too much coffee.
Evan:
Most teachers do.
Unknown:
You hate Mondays.
Evan:
That’s not exactly a rare trait.
Unknown:
And you still keep the red scarf your ex gave you.
Evan felt a chill creep across his shoulders.
Evan:
Okay. Who are you?
Unknown:
Someone who remembers things you try to forget.
Evan:
That’s a weird way to introduce yourself.
Unknown:
Maybe.
Evan:
Look, if this is someone from work just say it.
Unknown:
Not from work.
Evan:
Old friend?
Unknown:
Something like that.
Evan rubbed his eyes.
A thought crossed his mind.
Evan:
Emily?
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared again.
Unknown:
Interesting guess.
Evan:
You’re not denying it.
Unknown:
Would you like it to be Emily?
Evan:
Honestly? I’d just like to know who I’m talking to.
Unknown:
Names can complicate things.
Evan frowned.
The conversation felt like walking through fog.
Evan:
Why text me?
Unknown:
Because tonight seemed like a good night to talk.
Evan:
About what?
Unknown:
About truth.
Evan:
That sounds dramatic.
Unknown:
Life usually is.
Evan checked the time.
12:31 a.m.
Sleep was clearly not happening tonight.
Evan:
Okay mystery person. What truth are we discussing?
Unknown:
You remember three years ago?
Evan:
That’s vague.
Unknown:
The accident.
Evan’s chest tightened.
Evan:
Who told you about that?
Unknown:
You did.
Evan:
No I didn’t.
Unknown:
You told a lot of people pieces of it.
Evan:
Not the whole thing.
Unknown:
No. Not the whole thing.
Evan stared at the screen.
His heart had started beating faster.
Evan:
What exactly do you think you know?
Unknown:
You told everyone it was raining.
Evan:
It was.
Unknown:
You said the road was slick.
Evan:
It was.
Unknown:
You said the truck came out of nowhere.
Evan:
It did.
Unknown:
But that’s not the part you left out.
Evan typed slowly.
Evan:
I don’t know what you’re talking about.
Unknown:
You do.
Three dots blinked.
Unknown:
You were texting.
Evan’s fingers froze.
Evan:
Stop.
Unknown:
You looked down for three seconds.
Evan:
Stop.
Unknown:
Three seconds was enough.
Evan set the phone down for a moment.
His hands were shaking.
He picked it up again.
Evan:
Who are you?
Unknown:
Someone who knows the truth.
Evan:
Did Emily give you my number?
Unknown:
Emily didn’t give anyone anything.
Evan’s stomach dropped.
Evan:
That’s not funny.
Unknown:
I’m not joking.
Evan:
Emily survived.
Unknown:
That’s what everyone says.
Evan:
Because it’s true.
A pause.
Longer this time.
Unknown:
Do you remember the hospital?
Evan:
Yes.
Unknown:
Do you remember what the doctor said?
Evan:
Yes.
Unknown:
Do you remember the moment before the crash?
Evan’s breathing grew shallow.
Evan:
Why are you doing this?
Unknown:
Because you’ve been lying to yourself.
Evan:
I haven’t.
Unknown:
You have.
Another message appeared.
Unknown:
Emily didn’t survive.
Evan felt like the room tilted slightly.
Evan:
That’s not true.
Unknown:
It is.
Evan:
I visited her.
Unknown:
You visited someone.
The typing bubble blinked again.
Unknown:
But you never asked why she never spoke.
Evan’s heart slammed against his ribs.
Evan:
Who are you?
The response came slowly.
Unknown:
You said my name earlier.
Evan:
Emily?
Unknown:
Yes.
Evan stared at the phone.
Evan:
That’s impossible.
Emily:
Is it?
Evan:
Emily is alive.
Emily:
No.
Evan:
I saw her.
Emily:
You saw what you needed to see.
Evan’s mind raced.
Evan:
This isn’t funny.
Emily:
I’m not trying to be funny.
Evan:
Then explain.
The next message appeared slowly.
Emily:
After the crash, you survived.
Emily:
You woke up in the hospital.
Emily:
You kept asking about me.
Emily:
The doctors didn’t know what to say.
Emily:
So they didn’t say anything.
Evan’s breathing grew ragged.
Evan:
You’re lying.
Emily:
Your brain filled in the rest.
Emily:
You imagined the visits.
Emily:
You imagined the recovery.
Emily:
It was easier than facing the truth.
Evan shook his head.
Even though no one could see him.
Evan:
No.
Emily:
Yes.
The typing bubble blinked again.
Emily:
You’ve been texting yourself for three years.
Evan stared at the screen.
Evan:
That’s insane.
Emily:
Check the number.
Evan opened the contact details.
His stomach dropped.
The number was saved under a name.
Emily.
But the phone number…
It matched his own.
A final message appeared.
Emily:
You weren’t ready to hear it before.
Emily:
But tonight you were.
Evan typed one last message.
His hands trembling.
Evan:
Are you real?
The typing bubble appeared again.
Then disappeared.
Then appeared once more.
Emily:
I’m the truth you’ve been avoiding.
And then the conversation ended.
No more messages.
Just silence.
And the faint glow of the phone screen reflecting in Evan’s eyes.
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