Cecelia.
Huh?
My name. It's Cecelia.
James bit down lightly on his lip, in an effort to stop the smile forming on his face. The feeling he didn't know the name of, but he could liken to childlike giddiness, that filled him made him feel stupid, but it wasn't something he could help. Cecelia. Four syllables coming together to create the musical, flowing cadence of her name.
He liked the name of the fucking weird ass girl he'd come to somewhat enjoy having conversations with. He liked it quite a bit. And he liked the fact that she trusted him enough to grant him the small, yet significant gift of her name.
Goodnight, Cecelia.
Night, sweetums.
YOU ARE READING
Hey, Celia? | ✔️
Short StorySometimes texting the wrong number isn't so wrong after all. A dialogue story following Cecelia and James as they realize this fact, starting at 4:36am on a Thursday... (amazing cover by @elysian_writes <3) [this is trash, lmao. Don't read it-]
