Sophie sat on the edge of her bed, phone in hand, staring at the words on her screen. Jack's poem. She had read it so many times she nearly had it memorized, yet each time, it struck her differently. The way he crafted words—raw, unpolished, but achingly real—felt like a glimpse into a part of him he never showed anyone. A part he had just willingly shared with her.
She traced a finger over the screen as if that would somehow make it more tangible. Jack was always the carefree one, the adventurer, the man who never seemed weighed down by expectations. But this? This was something else. This was vulnerability. And it terrified her.
The truth was, she had already known she was falling for him. The way her heart reacted to his messages, the way she caught herself waiting for his replies, the way a simple Jack… had been all she could type when he sent her his poem. She had known. She just hadn't admitted it to herself.
Because what did it even mean? Falling for someone she had never met? Someone who lived behind a screen, whose voice she had never even heard?
The thought unsettled her, creeping into her mind even as she tried to push it away. At work the next day, she drowned herself in research, immersing herself in pages of academic articles and lecture notes, but her focus kept slipping. The words blurred together, replaced by thoughts of Jack. The way he had trusted her with something so personal. The way she had felt an inexplicable warmth at his trust.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her from her thoughts. A message from Jack.
Jack: What's on your mind, Professor?
A small smile tugged at her lips despite herself. He had started calling her that after learning she was a professor and researcher, and for some reason, it always made her laugh. But today, it didn't feel as lighthearted.
Sophie: Just a long day.
Jack: A 'buried in research and forgetting to eat' kind of long day?
She hesitated. He knew her too well.
Sophie: Maybe.
Jack: I should start charging for my psychic abilities.
Sophie: How much?
Jack: Depends. Do I get paid in sarcastic comments or actual money?
Sophie: Sarcasm is a priceless currency.
Jack didn't respond right away, and for a moment, Sophie thought maybe they had fallen back into their normal rhythm. The teasing, the ease, the comfortable distance. But then another message popped up.
Jack: You feel different today.
Sophie's stomach twisted. Of course he noticed. He always did.
Sophie: I don't know what we're doing anymore.
She didn't mean to say it. The words just spilled out, the weight of them pressing against her chest as soon as they were sent.
Jack didn't reply right away. She imagined him, sitting wherever he was, fingers hovering over the keyboard, maybe running a hand through his hair like he did when he was thinking. The thought made her breath catch.
Finally, his response came.
Jack: Me neither.
Sophie closed her eyes, her pulse thrumming in her ears. She should have felt relieved that he understood, that he felt it too. But it only made everything more real.
Jack: Are you scared?
She hesitated before typing.
Sophie: Yes. Are you?
Jack: Yeah.
The simple honesty of it made her heart ache.
Jack: But maybe that's okay.
Sophie: How is that okay?
Jack: Because it means this actually matters.
She stared at his words, her chest tightening. He was right. If this were nothing, they wouldn't be afraid. They wouldn't be overthinking every message, every pause, every hesitation.
Jack: Maybe we don't need to have all the answers right now.
Sophie let out a shaky breath. Maybe they didn't. Maybe for now, it was enough to just exist in this strange, uncharted space between certainty and fear. Between knowing and not knowing. Between wanting more and being too afraid to reach for it.
Sophie: Okay. No answers. Just us.
Jack: Just us.
And for now, that was enough.