She typed it late.
Half past midnight.
Letters stumbling.
"I'm drunk."
Pause.
"And I miss you."

He saw it.
Didn't answer.
Couldn't.
The wall was too high now.

Morning came.
He typed one thing.
A question mark.
Cold. Small.
The kind of reply
that isn't a reply at all.

She stared at it.
Felt the weight.
Then wrote back:
"nvm."
Three letters.
And a period.
The end of a story
that never really started.

After that,
no more "how's ur day?"
No more small jokes.
No more reaching.

He built the final wall.
Thick.
Silent.
Absolute.
Not to keep her out.
But to keep himself from going back.

And that was it.
The last message.
The last almost.

Somewhere on a screen,
the chat stayed open.
But no one typed again.