MY BEST FRIEND TEXTED ME FROM HER BOYFRIEND’S PHONE — “HE’S ASLEEP.”
I stared at the screen, my fingers trembling, the blue light of the phone burning into my retinas. My heart hammered so loud I could hear it in my ears, and the air in my room suddenly felt heavy, too thick to breathe. “He’s asleep,” the message said, simple, casual, as if it didn’t shatter everything I thought I knew about her — about us.
“What the hell is this?” I typed back, my thumbs slipping on the slick glass. The reply came instantly: “Relax, it’s not what you think.” But how could it not be? His phone, his bed, 2:17 a.m. The scent of his cologne seemed to invade my memory, sharp and sickening, mixed with the faint vanilla lotion she always wore.
My voice cracked as I called her, but she didn’t pick up. “You’re lying,” I texted again, my throat tight. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by the hum of the fridge downstairs. I thought about all the nights she’d canceled plans, all the times she’d defended him when I said he was flirting with her.
Then my screen lit up again: “He’s awake now. Wants to talk to you.”
👇 *Full story continued in the comments…*My stomach lurched. *Him?* My mind raced, desperate for a reasonable explanation, any explanation. Why would he want to talk to me? What could possibly be going on? My fingers, numb with dread, fumbled with the call button. The dial tone echoed in the sudden emptiness of my room, each ring a hammer blow to my hope.
Finally, his voice, gravelly and laced with a strange, forced cheerfulness, filled the speaker. “Hey,” he said, his tone surprisingly casual, as if it was a normal call. “So, listen, there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for all this.”
I didn’t speak, paralyzed.
“We… we were just talking,” he continued, his voice now sounding strained, as if he was reciting a script. “About, uh… her birthday. She’s been planning a surprise party for you, and we just wanted to… finalize the details.”
My brain short-circuited. A party? A surprise party for me? The pieces of the puzzle started to shift, rearranging themselves, though it was still difficult to process.
“And,” he added quickly, “She didn’t want you to know. She’s very good at keeping secrets.”
Suddenly, I heard a muffled sound in the background, and then my friend’s voice, urgent and whispered, “Tell her! Tell her it’s the only way she’ll believe you.”
He cleared his throat. “Yeah, so… uh… she’s… she’s in the room. And she wants to tell you something. Hang on.”
A moment of silence. Then, a shaky, hesitant voice, “Hey. I’m here.”
I could hear a sob choked back as she then said “I’m so sorry for the way this looks. Everything… everything is true. I love you. I have known about the surprise for weeks and have been coordinating with him. Can you forgive me? And more importantly, will you come to the party?”
The relief that washed over me was immense, so overwhelming that I sat there, speechless. Then, finally, a grin spread across my face, tears blurring my vision. “Yes,” I whispered, my voice thick with emotion. “Yes, I forgive you. And yes, I’ll be there.”
Later, that night, as I danced and laughed with her amidst the streamers and the cake, surrounded by all of our friends, I felt a familiar sense of warmth and gratitude. The scent of vanilla lotion, mixed with a hint of his cologne, filled the room, but this time, instead of dread, it brought only joy and a reminder of the incredible lengths she’d gone to, to make me happy. It wasn’t the truth, but the love behind the lie that mattered. After all, that was the nature of our friendship: messy, complicated, but above all, strong. And it was a bond that, tonight, proved stronger than any misunderstanding.