isa stared at her phone like it had just grown teeth.
message failed to send.
she blinked, tried again.
same red exclamation mark.
wifi was fine—luca was streaming something across the room. isa turned her phone sideways, refreshed, checked her bars. everything worked. everything except him.
her chest went tight. not like before, not like the quiet ache of missing him. this was sharper. louder.
she scrolled up their thread. all the old messages, the late-night calls, the dumb memes—they were still there. but his name looked different now. gray, unclickable, like something dead.
"no," isa whispered to herself. "no, no, no."
she opened instagram. searched his name. nothing.
snapchat. nothing.
blocked.
isa's breath came shallow, uneven. her fingers shook against the glass as if trying hard enough would undo it.
what did she do? what did she do to make him—
her stomach flipped so fast she pressed a hand to it, like she could hold herself together that way.
she shoved her phone under a pillow like it burned, but the panic didn't stop there. it crawled up her throat, pressed against her ribs until she felt like screaming.
he blocked her.
matt.
the boy who looked at her like she was every song he'd never written. the boy who kissed her like she was air. the boy who held her together when everything else was falling apart.
he blocked her.
she grabbed the pillow and pressed it to her face, muffling the broken sound that ripped out of her. her shoulders shook, silent, violent.
the room blurred. everything tilted.
maybe he didn't care anymore. maybe it was easy for him. maybe those nights, those whispered almosts—maybe they were nothing. maybe she was nothing.
her throat hurt. her chest burned.
and somewhere, through the ringing in her ears, she could hear luca laughing at his show in the next room. like the world didn't just split in two.
isa curled into herself, clutching the pillow so tight it hurt. she didn't even notice when her phone buzzed again—another email from the airline confirming details.
she was going home.
and maybe... there'd be nothing left waiting for her.
- chlo speaks!
sorry its short dont hit me
pleaaase dont be a dry reader!
YOU ARE READING
the spaces between
Fanfictionisa sanchez grew up in the house next door to the sturniolo triplets - chris, nick, and matt. she'd spent years tangled in their world: porch lights glowing late into summer nights, backyard games, rides to school, laughter that never seemed to run...
