She raises her weary head as she hears her Buddy List door open for the hundredth time all day. Maybe now. She flicks her cursor and brings up the list. Scans the small, vertical screen with her eyes. No. It’s someone else. She goes back to what she was doing, dropping her eyes to her book.

Again, she hears the door, a few minutes later. Maybe now. Please maybe now. She’s going crazy from not talking to him for five days. She can just imagine him alone in some cold hospital bed, jury-rigging his laptop up with clammy fingers, his arms nearly too heavy to lift to touch the keys. But no. Still not him. Refinds her place on the page, runs a hand through her hair. It needs a wash. Just a little longer, though, she thinks.

An hour later, she’s switched playlists three times, checked her mail five times, and finished the book. He’ll just be out of luck, she thinks to herself. As she goes to push her laptop away, the door opens again. His name in bold.

“Hey love,” he says.

“Hey, yourself,” she says, grinning.

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