Page 94 of Sexting the Pakhan

Instead, my brain chooses betrayal, and reminds me of the text I received last night.

Unknown Number:Are you awake?

That was how it started.

Not me this time. Him.

I was in bed, alone, after packing the girls’ bags for school. Two lunch boxes on the counter. Two tiny uniforms laid over the backs of chairs. Two pairs of socks, because Nadia had rejected three others for “toe reasons.” The apartment was too quiet after the girls fell asleep, and I was lying on my side, staring at the ceiling, feeling the strange ache of tomorrow before it arrived.

Then my phone lit up.

Unknown Number:Are you awake?

I remember the way my heart jumped. It was ridiculous. Embarrassing. Six years later and a text from a man I had never met could still make my body react before my mind approved it.

I stared at the screen for almost a minute. Then I had typed back:That depends on why you’re asking.

His reply came faster than I expected.

Unknown Number:Because I thought of you.

I rolled onto my back, phone held above my face, cheeks heating in the dark.

Me:That is either sweet or suspicious.

Unknown Number:Both.

I laughed quietly because the girls were asleep in the next room, and motherhood had turned every adult feeling into something that had to be managed at low volume.

Me:You disappeared for nine months and came back with “Are you awake?”

Unknown Number:You answered.

I hated that he was right. I hated more that I was smiling.

Me:Maybe I was checking if this number still worked.

Unknown Number:It works.

Me:Clearly.

Unknown Number:Did you miss me?

I stopped smiling then.

The question had slipped under the door I try to keep shut. Not because I miss him, exactly. Missing someone requires knowing them. This man is still a number, a voice made of old messages, a private bad decision I return to on nights when I feel too much inside my own skin.

But I miss being wanted without having to make snacks first.

I miss being spoken to like my body belongs to me.

I miss the version of myself who can feel desire without immediately counting the cost.

I typed one answer, deleted it, then typed another.

Me:Sometimes.

Unknown Number:When?