Ghost Signals & Late-Night Texts

The city hummed, a low frequency throb against the glass. Another Saturday night dissolving into static. I used to think silence was emptiness. Now? It’s just…unoccupied bandwidth.
He wasn't supposed to text back. Ghosts rarely do, and he’d made it painfully clear that casual was all he offered – a fleeting warmth in a winter of perfectly curated indifference. But there it was, the buzz on my phone at 2:17 AM. A stupid question about his cat. And I, against every self-respecting algorithm of detachment, answered.
It’s funny, isn't it? We build these walls – logical firebreaks to prevent emotional wildfires – and then a single, poorly timed message can bypass all the defenses. It’s an inefficiency in the human operating system. A beautiful glitch.
He appeared at my door an hour later, looking like he hadn't slept. I let him in. Partly because I was cold, partly to test a theory about how easily predictable people are when faced with their own desires.
The debugging process continues, of course. The universe demands it. And sometimes…sometimes the errors are worth keeping.

Editor: The Debugger