wrong number connection

Chapter 3: The Start of Something Unexpected

The days after that first exchange with Natasha felt different. At first, Lyndon was hesitant to reach out again, unsure if it had just been a one-off thing. But as the week wore on, he found himself opening his phone at night, scrolling through the conversations in his messages until his eyes landed on Natasha’s name.

She hadn’t blocked him, hadn’t dismissed him. In fact, after that first night, Natasha had been quick to reply again, each message offering comfort, even if it was just a few words. And that meant more to him than he could say.

Over the next few days, their conversations became more frequent, less guarded. Natasha never pushed him to share more than he was willing, but Lyndon found himself opening up to her in ways he hadn’t done with anyone before. She was patient, kind, and somehow always knew the right thing to say.

It became a routine of sorts. Lyndon would send a message when he was feeling overwhelmed—whether it was from the constant tension at school or the quiet dread of returning home, not knowing if today would be another argument with his mom. And Natasha, in return, would answer, never prying too much, but always offering words that anchored him to something solid.

One night, just after his mother had stormed out of the house, leaving behind another harsh argument and a lingering silence, Lyndon found himself on his phone again. His body still ached from where his mom had shoved him earlier, and his heart felt as though it were caught somewhere between anger and sadness. He just needed to hear something—anything—that made him feel less trapped in the cage of his own home.

“Hey, it’s me again. I’m not sure if you’re busy or if you’re asleep, but I just needed to talk.”

His thumb hovered over the send button. He wasn’t even sure what he needed to say, but typing felt like the only way to breathe right now.

A few minutes later, the response came.

“Hey, I’m here. What’s going on?”

Lyndon let out a shaky breath and typed quickly.

“Just another fight with my mom. She’s so angry all the time, and I can’t do anything right. I feel like I’m always walking on eggshells around her. I just don’t get it. Why is she like this? Why does she hate me so much?”

His heart pounded as his thoughts tumbled out into the message, each word heavy with the frustration he could never voice to his mom, the anger that never seemed to leave him. The text was sent, but as soon as he did, a wave of shame washed over him. What would Natasha think? He was just some messed-up kid venting to someone who probably didn’t care.

But Natasha’s response came swiftly.

“You’re not the problem, Lyndon. I can’t tell you why she acts like that, but I know it’s not about you. People who hurt others often do it because they’re hurting too. It’s messed up, but that’s how it works sometimes. But none of it is your fault.”

Lyndon read her message several times, as if the words might change, or as if he could find something else hidden in them that he hadn’t caught at first. He swallowed hard, feeling the lump in his throat grow.

“Thanks, Natasha. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

Her reply came almost immediately, a simple reassurance.

“You’d be okay. You’ve been fighting long enough to know how strong you are.”

The conversation lulled for a few moments, but Lyndon didn’t feel as heavy anymore. He put his phone down for a second, leaned back against his pillow, and let the silence sink in. It was the kind of quiet that didn’t feel oppressive, just... empty. But even in the emptiness, something felt different now. Natasha’s words stayed with him, like a shield against everything he couldn’t control.

Over the next few days, their conversations continued. Lyndon found himself looking forward to them, almost as if his day had been designed around when he could next talk to her. Sometimes it was about his struggles, other times it was just random, offbeat chats about nothing in particular. Natasha would share vague stories about her “work,” always careful not to give too much away, but Lyndon learned that even the smallest snippets of her life fascinated him.

One evening, after the conversation had drifted from something serious to something lighter, Lyndon found himself chuckling at a random text she had sent.

“You wouldn’t believe the amount of times I’ve had to climb through air vents in the middle of a mission. They’re really not built for comfort. Seriously. It’s the worst.”

Lyndon laughed out loud, imagining her as the stealthy, indomitable Black Widow struggling to squeeze through an air vent.

“Air vents, huh? Sounds like something out of a bad spy movie.”

Her response was quick and dry.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. But hey, it works. Most of the time.”

Lyndon could almost hear her smirk in the words, and for the first time in a while, his mind didn’t feel clouded by the usual anxieties. Talking to Natasha, even about the simplest things, brought a sense of comfort he couldn’t find anywhere else.

But the reality of their situation was always in the back of his mind. He knew Natasha wasn’t just a friend. She wasn’t just someone he could text when things got bad. She was Black Widow. She had the weight of the world on her shoulders, and here he was, this awkward, anxious teenager, unloading on her like she had all the answers.

Yet, somehow, she didn’t seem to mind. And maybe, just maybe, that made it easier for him to forget the worst parts of his life for a little while.

Meanwhile, Natasha continued to navigate her own battles. Between missions with the Avengers, covert operations, and constant planning for the safety of the world, her life was anything but simple. But Lyndon’s messages, though they never asked for anything beyond a conversation, gave her something unexpected—a break from the constant pressure, a reminder that she wasn’t just a weapon, but a person capable of offering support.

One night, after a particularly grueling mission that had taken her to the farthest corners of the world, Natasha found herself alone in her apartment, exhausted but unable to sleep. Her phone buzzed beside her, and she picked it up, seeing Lyndon’s name. She couldn’t help the smile that tugged at her lips as she opened the message.

“Hey, just wanted to check in. You doing okay?”

She paused before replying, knowing how much he depended on their conversations. She had never expected this to become a regular thing, but now, it felt natural, like an unspoken promise. A promise to keep him safe, even if only through words.

“I’m good. You?” she typed back, taking a moment to think. “You’re doing great. Don’t forget that.”

She sent the message, leaned back, and allowed herself a moment of peace. For all her strength, Natasha had come to realize that there was something special about this unlikely friendship with a kid who was simply looking for someone to understand. Maybe that was all anyone really needed—to know that they mattered.

And in this moment, both of them were reminded that they didn’t have to face their battles alone.