Chapter 3: New hope
The notification was a shock to the system. A jolt straight to the nerves. His phone buzzed on the desk, not with a generic alert, but with the specific, long-silent chime of the messaging app. The one he hadn’t deleted, but had buried in a folder out of sight, out of mind.
He stared at it. The screen lit up his dim room. It was late, the blue glow reflecting in the black window.
It couldn’t be.
His heart did a stupid, hopeful lurch before his brain could shut it down. Probably spam. A wrong number. He picked up the phone slowly, as if it were loaded.
The username was familiar. It was nearly the same name as Eva has before. The preview text read: Hey. I lost my accou...
His thumb hovered. He tapped.
Eva: Hey. I lost my account. LG Eva.
Eva: You probably thought I ghosted you.
Peter sat very still. The words swam. Blocked. New account. It was so mundane. So stupidly, infuriatingly normal. Not a dismissal. A technical glitch.
All the quiet resignation of the past months curdled into a hot, confused mess. He typed, deleted, typed again.
Peter: I did.
Peter: Are you for real?
Eva: 100%. Check the pics.
A new image loaded. It was her, unmistakably. Eva in a sports bra, leaning against a sunlit wall, smiling at the camera. A new tattoo, a small geometric design, on her ribcage. Proof of life.
Eva: See? It’s your girl. The one who stood you up. Twice.
A weak laugh choked out of him. The sound was strange in the silent room.
Peter: Yeah. That one.
Peter: I thought you’d… I don’t know. Moved on.
Eva: I did move on. Had to. Lost all my contacts. Started from scratch. But I kept thinking about the guy with the this one dream.
Peter: You thought about me?
Eva: I remember a lot. I felt bad. Genuinely. So… I’m texting.
The conversation didn’t stop. It flowed from that moment, spanning days. She texted from the gym, between clients, late at night. The dynamic shifted. It was less like scheduling a session, more like… talking. She told him about the Dubai guy – a fussy regular who paid for her flight but complained about the hotel mini-bar. He told her about his classes, the endless theory that felt pointless. She sent a voice note laughing at his impression of his professor.
The fantasy was still there, a deep, dark current running beneath everything. But now there was a surface to walk on.
“What about a new date?” she asked one evening, via text. “A real one. No flu. No last-minute flights. Just us at your home.”
Peter: When?
Eva: I’m booked solid for three weeks. There’s a convention in Hamburg. After that? I’m yours. Say… a month from now?
A month. It felt like an eternity. It felt like nothing. After thinking it was gone forever, a month was a heartbeat. He agreed.
Since then, they texted very often. The topics bled beyond the asphalt and the weight and the impact. She asked about his family, why he was studying what he was studying. He gathered fragments of her life – the nomadic existence, the strict training for her abs, the weirdest requests she’d ever gotten (“A guy once paid me to step on a picture of his ex. Just the picture. Weirdly therapeutic, actually.”).
One night, the conversation turned a corner.
Eva: You know, most guys just want the thing. They get it, they’re done. You’re different.
Peter: How?
Eva: You think about it. You feel weird about it. You cared that you missed it. That’s rare.
Peter: I just… never thought I’d get the chance.
Eva: You have the chance now. And honestly? After all this texting… I’m kinda into the idea of it being you.
His breath caught.
Peter: Into the idea of… the session?
Eva: Of you. Of seeing what you’re like when you finally let go. And maybe… not just in the parking lot.
He didn’t know what to say. The screen blurred. Was she saying…?
Eva: Don’t freak out. I’m just putting it out there. After we do the thing. If the vibe is right. We could see.
Peter: I’ve never… I’m not really experienced. With any of it.
Eva: I know. That’s kinda the point. I’d be the experience. Think about it. No pressure.
He did think about it. Constantly. Now, the countdown wasn’t just to an event. It was to a precipice. The fantasy had grown flesh, a personality, a laugh, and now it was offering him more than he’d ever allowed himself to imagine. Together.
The new date glowed on his calendar app, a digital beacon. He didn’t clean his apartment this time. Instead, he started running. Short, painful jogs around the block, building up his wind. He did push-ups on his bedroom floor, his arms trembling. He wasn’t sure why. To be stronger for her? To be worthy? To endure?
He watched the videos again, but differently now. He studied form, balance, the way force was applied. He was preparing. He was learning.
And every day he hoped his phone rings with a new message of her.