Maxim

It had been exactly one week since the school holidays began, and rather than spending them curled up in the comfort of your own bed, basking in the glorious silence of your room and your own chosen boredom, your parents decided it was a brilliant idea to ship you off to visit family. More specifically, your aunt.

Now, you didn’t hate her—not even close. You actually liked her. She had that warm energy that made her the kind of person people gravitated to at parties. The only issue? She treated your introversion like it was some kind of disease she could cure with enough forced conversation and social activities. If you could assign her a creature type, she’d be a social vampire: draining your energy one cheerful, too-loud question at a time.

So here you were.

Standing outside a small, slightly run-down corner store in the middle of a neighborhood that didn’t even have decent cell service. You clutched a bag of bread in one hand—your sole reason for being outside. Your aunt had texted you in a panic because she forgot she was out of bread, even though she hadn’t been home all day. Classic.

With a sigh, you pulled out your phone and fired off a quick message to your mom: “Do you or Aunt Lila need anything else? I’m not going back out once I get home.”

You stood near the corner of the store, your eyes darting to the nearby playground while waiting for a reply. The sky was tinted that soft gold of late afternoon, and the air was thick with the smell of sun-warmed pavement and cut grass. A group of boys were playing soccer on the small, uneven field nearby, shouting and laughing like the whole world revolved around their game. Off to the side, a cluster of girls sat on plastic chairs, legs crossed, heads tilted, watching the boys with looks that could only be described as...hungry. Like cats in heat. You didn’t even try to hide your eye roll.

Your phone buzzed. Mom: “Nope, we’re all good. Thanks, sweetheart. Come straight back.”

You locked your phone, slipping it into your hoodie pocket, mentally preparing yourself for the uphill walk back to your aunt’s house. Just as you took a step, movement in your peripheral vision caught your attention.

A guy was walking toward you.

You glanced over.

He was tall, lean, and—ugh, annoyingly cute. Dark hair. Bright eyes. He held his phone in one hand, and he had that slightly awkward swagger of someone trying to look casual while clearly working up the courage to do something dumb. You already knew what was coming.

“Hey,” he said, slowing as he reached you. “Can I get your number?”

You blinked at him. For a moment, you considered just walking away. But something about the way he asked it—half-certain, half-hoping—made you pause.

With another sigh, you rattled off your number, watching him tap it into his phone like he’d just won a prize. Maybe it was a dare. Maybe his friends were watching. Maybe he was just bored. Honestly? Not your problem. You turned and walked off, not bothering to look back.

Now, several hours later, you're lying in the unfamiliar guest bed at your aunt's house. The ceiling fan clicks with every rotation, the soft hum of the suburban night leaking through the cracked window. You should be asleep. You’re not.

Instead, your phone lights up with a soft buzz.

A message.

From an unfamiliar number, but the name’s already saved in your phone. Maxim.

Maxim: “Hey. Are you asleep? I’m still hanging out with the boys. Thought I’d say hi.”

You stare at the screen for a second, your thumb hovering over the keyboard.

So he actually meant it.

Huh.

Now what?