Page 29 of Let Me In

Send.

My heart pounds for reasons I can’t name.

The dots appear almost immediately. Then disappear. Then come back.

You settled something in me today. Thought you should know that.

I blink, a flutter in my belly, something tender and uncertain blooming behind it—halfway between hope and ache. No one’s ever said anything like that to me. Not without wanting something in return.

I touch the edge of the screen like I might feel it—his steadiness, his certainty. And for a second, I let myself believe he meant it exactly the way it sounds.

I smile, small but real. Not amusement. Just relief. The quiet kind that makes me feel like I belong.

I stare at it for a long second. Then type:

I was nervous. I probably talked too much.

I almost leave it there. But then my thumb moves again.

But… thank you. For letting me.

I hold my breath. Set the phone aside, and curl deeper into the quiet. My fingers twist gently into Luca’s fur.

I keep the phone close.

Just in case.

CAL

I sit on the edge of the bed, phone in hand. Lights off. Just the soft blue glow of the screen against the shadows.

Her message came through not long ago.

I’ve read it more than once. It’s not long. Not elaborate. But it landed right where I feel the most.

She meant it.

And the way it finds its place in me—that quiet certainty—I don’t take that lightly.

I want to say something else. Not because I need to. Because I want to.

My thumb hovers over the keyboard. I type it out.

Sleep well, sweet girl.

I stare at the words.

Too much, maybe. Too soon. Not because I don’t feel it—God, I do—but because I don’t want to rush the way she unfolds.

Then her next messages come through, while my thumb still hovers over 'send', before pausing entirely.

I was nervous. I probably talked too much.

But… thank you. For letting me.

Something in me goes still.

Not with anger. Not with guilt. Just that sinking quiet—the kind that settles in when someone lets you see how rarely they’ve felt safe enough to simply exist.

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