I was slouched on my couch, legs tangled in a blanket, a bowl of popcorn balanced precariously on my lap. The TV flickered in front of me, playing some so-called "romantic" comedy that was more cringe than charm.
The protagonist had just delivered a monologue about how love was like a donut sweet, but sometimes with a hole in the middle. I groaned, tossing a piece of popcorn at the screen.
"Who writes this stuff?" I muttered, reaching for the remote.
The only reason I hadn't turned it off was sheer laziness. I wasn't exactly in the mood for some profound indie film, but this was testing my patience.
The heroine tripped over her own feet for the third time, and I was about to call it quits when my phone buzzed beside me.
I grabbed it, expecting a message from Maya about her latest Nicole escapade, but instead, it was from an unknown number.
Are you asleep?
