Imagine 43: Michael Gordon Clifford (Wrong Number)
Your phone buzzed on your wooden work table, snapping you out of your trance, the light blue sticky note dropping from your fingertips and falling onto the floor slowly.
College midterms were drawing closer a day at a time and you'd made it crystal clear that you didn't want anyone bothering you during your sacred study time.
You exhaled sharply, rolling your eyes before bending down quickly to take your phone in your hands, confusion forming in your head as you looked at the unknown number, swiping to answer the call hesitantly.
"Hello?"
"H-Hey! It's me, Mi--"
"Sorry, you've got the wrong number." You say as formally as possible, the voice not sounding like anyone you knew.
There was an almost frantic sound of rustling on the other end, and with another eye roll, you motion to end the call.
"N-No it isn't! It's written right here, on the napkin you gave me last night!"
"Buddy, I wasn't out yesterday." You say in a deadpan tone.
The line was silent and you sigh. "Sounds like whoever you were with last night didn't really give you their number." You state obviously, the unknown caller groaning.
"Sorry." You say apologetically, tapping your foot on the floor.
As much as you felt bad for whoever the caller was, he wasn't helping you get anywhere for your midterms.
"Who is this, then?"
"Excuse me?" You scoff, a look of disbelief making it's way on your face.
"You're excused." He says cheekily.
"I'm hanging up. Sorry about your.. whatever it is that happened last night." You say, hearing him protest for half a second before you end the call, tossing your phone on the couch and picking the sticky note up from the floor.
Just as you took a pen and continued scribbling the other half of your sentence on the note, your phone started buzzing again, the same unknown number flashing on the screen.
You sigh, irritated, and pick your phone up again.
"What?"
"You didn't answer my question." He said quickly.
You shake your head, putting your thumb and index finger on the bridge of your nose.
"Please stop bothering me." You say, trying to keep your voice calm. "I'm very busy--"
"Then answer my question."
You stayed quiet, lips pursed. On one hand, you could hang up again, block his number, and return to your peaceful study.
But on the other hand, he'd probably end up calling you over and over until you pick up and answer his stupid question.
You sigh, defeated, and tell him your name.
You could almost feel the joy radiating out of your phone as he told you his name in return.
"Cool, I'm Michael. Wanna grab a coffee some time?"
You scoff once more before moving to hang up.
A few minutes pass and your phone dings with a message notification.
'Your voice sounds cute over the phone'
You raise an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk on your face before you receive more messages.
'lol'
'Sorry that was creepy'
'So you still up for that coffee?'