Jackson’s thumb shook slightly. He could almost hear the song they used to dance to playing in the distance, or maybe it was just the ringing in his own ears. He remembered the smell of her perfume, a mix of vanilla and rain, and for a second, the decision seemed easy. The Decision

With a slow, heavy exhale, Jackson hit the backspace button. He watched the numbers disappear one by one until the screen was blank. He locked the phone and flipped it face down on the table.

⚡ Sometimes the strongest thing you can do is recognize when to hold back, even when every fiber of your being wants to reach out.

He didn't need to look at his contacts to know her number. He knew it by heart. He knew the rhythm of the digits, the way his thumb felt pressing them in sequence.

Jackson had his thumb hovering over the green call button. He was exactly one number away from hearing her voice. The Weight of the Last Digit

He deletes the numbers. He goes to bed. He wakes up tomorrow and continues the slow, painful process of forgetting.

He presses it. It rings. She doesn't answer. He is left with the agonizing echo of an unanswered call in the middle of the night.

The rain on the roof of the small Nashville apartment sounded like static on a radio station that wouldn't quite come in. Jackson sat at the Formica kitchen table, staring at the screen of his phone. It was 2:14 AM.