Sarah lay on her bed, staring at the glow-in-the-dark stars she had stuck to the ceiling years ago. They used to be comforting when she was little — now they felt like silent judges watching her spiral into thoughts she didn't ask for.
Her phone buzzed.
John.
For a moment, she debated not answering. She wasn't in the mood to say "I'm fine" when she wasn't. But something about the fact that he was calling, not texting, made her swipe right.
"Hey," his voice came through, warm and a little breathless, like he'd just run upstairs.
"Hey," she replied softly.
"You sound… far away," he said. "You okay?"
Sarah hesitated. "Define 'okay.'"
He chuckled that low laugh that somehow unclenched the knot in her chest. "The kind of okay where you can still talk to me without pretending."
She sighed. "Then… no. Not really."
There was a pause, but not the awkward kind. More like he was giving her space to decide how much of herself to spill tonight.
Finally, she whispered, "Sometimes I feel like I'm stuck inside my own head. Like, even when I'm around people, I'm… not."
"Like your brain's playing a never-ending playlist of overthinking?" he guessed.
Sarah smiled faintly. "Exactly. Except instead of music, it's just… me telling myself everything I'm doing wrong."
"Well," John said lightly, "maybe I should DJ your thoughts for a while. Add some happier tracks. Like… 'Sarah's laugh is my favorite song.'"
Her cheeks warmed. "That's… cheesy."
"True," he said, "but you smiled, didn't you?"
She tried to hide it. "Maybe."
They talked for over an hour, drifting from serious things to random tangents — how pineapple on pizza was absolutely a war crime (John's stance), and how Sarah once tried to make pancakes without baking powder and ended up with edible frisbees.
At one point, she heard him yawn. "You should sleep," she told him.
"You first," he countered.
"Why?"
"Because I'll feel better knowing you're not lying there thinking too much before bed."
Her chest tightened not in the bad way this time. More like a feeling that scared her because it was good. "Goodnight, John."
"Goodnight, Sarah. Sweet dreams. And if you can't find them… borrow mine."
When the call ended, Sarah lay in the dark, phone still in hand, her heart doing that annoying thing where it felt too big for her chest.
For once, her mind didn't spiral before sleep.
It wandered.
And maybe just maybe that was better.