Chapter 3: Maybe She Saw Something She Shouldn't Have
Emma's POV
Three weeks. Three weeks and I'm still doing this.
I'm staring at the ceiling. There's a water stain up there, spreading like a bruise. Nothing like the high ceilings at Ryan's place. I blink. Turn my head. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:00 AM.
Every night it's the same. Three AM. Wide awake. Replaying every moment with him like some kind of masochist.
My hand reaches for the phone. Screen lights up too bright in the darkness. I squint, scrolling through nothing. Just killing time. Avoiding what I actually want to look at.
But my fingers are already opening the messages. Scrolling to Ryan's name. The last text sits there, two days old.
Ryan: "I miss you. Every single day."
I start typing. Delete. Type again. Delete.
What's the point? He tells me about the wedding? About how Sophia fits his world better?
I close the app. I need a distraction. Something. Anything.
My thumb slides across the screen. Lands on an app I haven't opened in months. Blind Hearts. Anonymous voice chat. First 72 hours, no photos, no real names. Just voices.
At least here, nobody knows I'm the pathetic ex who got replaced.
I tap through the setup. Fill in the profile without thinking.
Profile: "Just someone trying to move forward."
Send.
The matching algorithm works fast. A notification pops up.
You have a new match!
I tap it open.
Username: Architect_Soul
My breath catches.
Architect? Sophia's an architect. But that's insane. There are thousands of architects in New York. It can't be.
But my hands are shaking.
I should close the app. Delete my account. This is stupid.
Instead, I click on the chat. There's already a message waiting. A voice note.
I stare at the play button. Three seconds. Five. Ten.
Then I grab my earbuds. Plug them in.
Press play.
"Hi. Can't sleep?"
The voice hits me hard. Low. Rough. Tired.
It sounds like Ryan.
My heart stops. The phone nearly slips from my hands.
No. Lots of men have deep voices. This doesn't mean anything.
But there's something in the tone. Something familiar. The way the words come out slow and careful.
I stare at the screen for thirty seconds. My finger hovers above the record button.
I press it anyway.
"Yeah... can't sleep either. You too?"
Send.
Immediately, I regret it. But the message is already there.
The reply comes fast.
"Yeah. Got a lot on my mind."
I let out a bitter laugh. Press record again.
"Tell me about it."
The next hour disappears. We trade voice messages. Short at first. Then longer.
"So what's keeping you awake? Work stuff?"
I pause before answering. "I wish. I fell in love with someone I shouldn't have."
A few seconds of silence. Then: "What happened?"
"Thought we had a future. But he chose someone else. Someone who fits his world better."
My voice cracks. I bite my lip hard.
His response comes slower. "I lost someone important recently too." The pain in his voice sounds real. "She left without saying anything. One day we were fine, next day she was gone."
My chest tightens. I sit up straighter.
"Maybe she had her reasons. Maybe she saw something she shouldn't have."
"Like what?"
"Like him with someone else."
Silence. Long, heavy silence. I watch the screen, waiting. My heart pounds.
Finally, his voice comes back. Rough.
"Then she got it wrong. But I get it. I wasn't straight with her."
Tears slide down my face. I wipe them away.
Why does this stranger's story sound like mine? Why does his voice make me want to believe in explanations I know don't exist?
I force myself to record another message. "If you could go back, what would you change?"
His answer comes fast. "I'd tell her every day how much she means to me. I'd show her what I was planning instead of keeping it a surprise."
More tears. My hands shake. But I keep going.
"For me, it's too late. He's probably already proposed to someone else."
"What if he hasn't? What if everything you saw was just wrong?"
I let out a bitter laugh. "Life's not a romance novel. Things don't just work out."
"Maybe not. But talking might help."
There's a pause. Then he changes the subject. "Tell me about your work. You plan weddings?"
I glance at the clock. 4:30 AM. We've been talking for over an hour.
The days blur. Every night, I'm on Blind Hearts. Waiting for his voice. We talk about work, dreams, lost love, regrets. Everything except our real names.
Architect_Soul is easy to talk to. He doesn't judge. Just listens. Sometimes he asks questions that make me think harder than I want to.
During the day, I'm at the studio. Clarke Wedding Planning. My name on the door. Built with Ryan's money. The irony kills me.
I'm at the worktable one afternoon. Flower samples spread out. White roses, peonies, hydrangeas. I pick up my phone and record a voice note.
"Hey, quick question. White roses with peonies or hydrangeas?"
His reply comes almost instantly.
"White roses with peonies. You like peonies."
The flowers nearly fall from my hands.
My heart races. I grab the phone. Record immediately.
"Wait, I never said I like peonies?"
A pause. Then: "Lucky guess. Your voice sounds like someone who'd love them. Classic, elegant, understated."
That's impossible. How could he guess that?
I tell myself it's coincidence. It has to be.
But I need to test him. "Thanks. Actually, my ex gave me white roses and peonies on our first date."
His voice comes back quieter. "He has good taste."
"Had. Past tense."
That night, we're talking again. Later than usual.
"You know what? Talking to you makes me feel less alone. Like someone actually gives a shit how I feel."
There's something in his voice I can't identify. "I do care."
"Why? We don't even know what each other looks like."
"Sometimes voices are more real than faces. And your voice reminds me of the person I lost."
My heart jumps. That dangerous hope starts growing. I push it down hard.
We say goodnight. I'm lying in bed afterward, phone still in my hand. Staring at the ceiling.
This is weird. Architect_Soul knows I like peonies. His voice sounds like Ryan's. He says things that remind me of Ryan.
But it's just coincidence. The world is full of people. Similar voices, similar tastes.
I can only tell myself this is just a stranger. A stranger who happens to understand my pain.
