Chapter 5
CHAPTER FIVE
MALIK
Waking up, I stretch before getting out of bed. My dreams were filled with different idealizations of Indigo. No idea what she looks like or hell, if she’s even really she . But part of me just knows that whoever she is, she’s genuine and has good intentions.
Who else would continue to message a total stranger after a wrong number? Her little jokes and thoughtful comments give me the impression that she actually cares, and that idea warms me in a way I didn’t expect.
I brush my teeth and head to the kitchen for a quick bite. My phone pings from the bedroom as I grab my Pop-Tarts when they jump up in the toaster. I carry my morning treat to my room to grab it from the nightstand.
Indigo: Why don’t zombies eat clowns?
I grin, shaking my head at her silliness.
Me: Idk why
Indigo: They taste funny
I chuckle at another ridiculous zombie dad joke.
Me: I’m sensing a theme here. You like zombies?
Indigo: Duh. Flesh eating monsters who come back from the dead? Cool as hell.
We text back and forth as I get dressed for work. Bracing myself for another day filled with endless appointments, I head to my truck. I love my job; I really do. But pitching expensive dreams to homeowners who invariably turn me down? It takes its toll. I blame HGTV for warping everyone’s expectations—thinking they can remodel their entire home for twenty grand.
I pull my jacket tighter against the chill inside the truck cab and fire up the engine, the warmth of the heater starting to trickle through as I back out of the driveway. The morning air is brisk, biting at my cheeks as I crack the window. But today, I find a little brightness in my morning ritual, a spark ignited by a woman I’ve never met.
The first meeting is a bit of a flop, as usual. I present my ideas to a couple looking to renovate their kitchen, but I can see the skepticism in their eyes. I go through my spiel, trying to sell them the dream of a beautiful, functional space, but their minds are elsewhere.
I bid them goodbye and head out to my truck, ready for lunch. My mind buzzes with thoughts of Indigo as I drive to Taco Bell.
Indigo: What’s your favorite color?
Me: Purple.
Indigo: Bold choice for a male! I was expecting the boring blue.
Me: Purple is prettier. What’s yours?
Indigo: Blood red.
Her responses bring a smile to my face, a refreshing contrast to the monotony of my day. Taking another bite of my grilled cheese burrito, the gooey, cheesy goodness melts in my mouth. I wash it down with a swig of Baja Blast, the sweetness tingling on my tongue. I lean back in my seat, savoring the comfort food, while I type a reply to Indigo.
Me: Good choice. What about animals? If you could have any animal as a pet, what would it be?
Indigo: Raccoon.
Me: Trash pandas? What? No!
Indigo: Those little shits are cool as hell! Don’t lie.
Me: Caught me. A big liar. I love raccoons and the trash they string all over my curb every Wednesday night.
Indigo: Okay sassy pants, what’s your pet of choice?
Me: Ferret.
Indigo: The noodle rat of doom? And you’re judging my raccoon? This friendship is over!
I laugh out loud, a sound that feels too big for the quiet truck cab. Is that what we are? Friends? The warmth spreads through me. Can you be friends with someone you’ve only ever texted? It feels odd but exhilarating.
I finish my lunch, feeling a bit lighter as I head to my next appointment. I wonder if I’ve lost my damn mind wanting to be friends with a random woman I’ve never met, who might very well be catfishing me. But something tells me this is different. There’s a spark here, and for the first time in a long while, I feel like I’m sharing the real me—the version everyone else misses because of the package I’m wrapped in.
As I pull up to my next client’s house, I steal one last glance at my phone, hoping for another message. I want to carry her energy with me, something to hold on to.
This job is a bit different from the usual. The couple bought an empty house that’s half-finished, and they want to customize it to their liking. If they go with us, we can get it done quickly, since we won’t have to navigate around their moving schedule.
They answer the door with warm smiles, their enthusiasm palpable as they invite me in. The walls are bare, and the unfinished space is ripe with possibilities. I start pitching my proposal, detailing how we can transform this house into their dream home in record time.
To my surprise, they sign right away, their excitement contagious. They even hand me a check for the ten percent down payment, and I grin at their eagerness. They want to be in by Valentine’s Day, which is only two months away, but that feels manageable. We shake hands, and I thank them profusely, the thrill of landing a job like this lifting my spirits as I head home.
When I finally get home, I throw a frozen pizza in the oven—my go-to comfort food—and jump in the shower, letting the hot water wash away the stress after a long day. The oven timer goes off just as I'm stepping out of the tub, wrapping a towel around my waist. My stomach growls at the smell of melted cheese and crispy crust wafting through the air. Padding into the kitchen a few minutes later, I take the pizza out, slice it up, and carry it to the living room.
Settling onto the couch, I turn on the TV and find myself drawn into a new episode of Law and Order: SVU . The tension builds as I watch Olivia Benson fight the decision of whether to tell the truth about a woman who killed her abusive husband.
In the middle of the episode, I grab my phone and type out a quick message to Indigo.
Me: I’m watching some Law and Order then heading to bed. Goodnight, Indigo.
Her response comes almost instantly, and I smile at how effortlessly we’ve connected.
Indigo: Are you watching the new episode with Annabeth?
My heart lifts at the thought of us sharing this moment, even if it’s through a screen. It feels like a thread connecting us, pulling us closer together.
Me: Yep! I’m just at the part where she’s deciding whether to testify. What do you think? Should she tell the truth?
Indigo: Definitely. The truth always matters, even when it’s hard. But Annabeth is justified in her killing. That POS had to go.
I nod to myself, appreciating her perspective. We text back and forth, diving into the complexities of the plot and sharing our thoughts about the characters. Each message feels like another brick in the foundation of our strange little friendship, and I feel grateful for this unexpected connection.
As the episode wraps up, I glance at the clock and realize it’s getting late. I feel a warmth spread through me—not just from the pizza or the show but from the simple joy of sharing my thoughts with someone who gets it.
I take a deep breath and type out one last message.
Me: Goodnight, Indigo. Sleep well!
With a smile, I head to my room. Stripping off my sweats, I climb under the blanket, the cool sheets meeting my skin, a comforting contrast to the warmth of the pizza still lingering in my stomach.
As I settle in, a sense of calm washes over me. The world outside fades, and for a moment, I’m just me—wrapped in the softness of my blankets, thoughts drifting to Indigo and our budding friendship. It’s strange how a few texts can fill the quiet spaces of my life, making me feel a little less lonely.
The glow of my phone still illuminates the room as I find myself wondering what tomorrow will bring, not just in terms of work but in my conversations with her. Eyes closed, I'm embraced by the coziness of my blanket as the thrilling sense of connection soothes me into a peaceful sleep.