Chapter 4 Kyran
Kyran
Weslyn.
That is definitely a name I would have remembered. Granted, I believed her when she said she was not out and about last night, confirming she wasn't the girl who programmed this number in my phone. But part of me now wants to find out who it is I've ended up texting instead.
A response doesn't come to my head. But I asked for her name so I should try and find a way to continue the conversation, right?
I replace Jane Doe with Weslyn’s name as the contact, wondering if it's even appropriate or not. But then I catch myself examining the zip code of her phone number. I recognize the number as belonging to a state not far from where I am but not sure if that quite means anything or not.
I study the previous messages. Something intrigues me about the few texts we've exchanged. And her name still holds a strong presence in my head. Why? I have no idea.
Thoughts flip through my mind for a response as I lean in my bed. Having this to occupy my time makes me realize that I do live a rather quiet life and even just texting this stranger seems to be the most exciting thing I've done in a while.
I decide that I'm just going to type the first thing that comes to my mind and see what happens. After all, there's nothing to really lose one way or the other.
9:12pm
That's a beautiful name.
I type it out and press send, not knowing if it's too forward or not.
But really, there shouldn't be anything wrong with complimenting someone on their name.
And I am just telling the truth. What's the harm?
Worst case, she never responds because she does in fact think it's too forward.
Otherwise, she'll text back some sort of response and who knows where it'll go from there.
I place my phone back on my nightstand and reach for the book taking up space there, diving back into the words of Jane Austen while I wait to see if she'll respond soon.
Saturday, November 9th
I allowed myself the luxury of sleeping in, which I don't do very often. Usually, I'm up and preparing for my day by four in the morning, but I look at the clock on my wall and see that it's nearly seven.
I pull the blankets off my body and the first thing I want to do is look over at my phone, anticipation running through me in a foreign surge I've never felt before. I decide I don't want to seem too eager, but I also don't want to feel the disappointment by not finding a message from her.
Weslyn.
Instead, I walk over to the bathroom to brush my teeth, comb back my hair, and put on some jeans and a t-shirt for the day.
I have a loose meeting with a client later at noon, but it's casual and online so this attire will do.
After securing my watch on my wrist, I head for the coffee maker and start a pot before then deciding to finally grab my phone.
I'm eager for some reason, mainly because I want to know her response to my last text, but when I look at my phone . . . no new messages.
Part of me feels a little deflated, but the other part realizes it's irrational for me to feel that way. I probably creeped her out with my compliment. However, it's just a frivolous text message thread between me and some random girl with a lyrical name. If she doesn't reply back, I'll live.
I drop my phone back down and go back to the kitchen, pouring myself a cup of coffee before pulling out my laptop and logging on to check emails.
Yes, I'm off work today but like I said, I'm a busy man and when you're in the business of advising high rollers' bank accounts and assets, I'm also a very coveted man.
So I turn my attention to open email conversations, hoping work will take my mind off the fact that I still can't stop thinking about the stranger and the wrong number.