The guilt became a permanent resident in Elias's chest. He imagined a thousand versions of that conversation. Was it an apology? A curse? A plea for help? He kept the old phone charged, tucked away in a drawer, just to look at the notification whenever the regret became too loud to ignore. It was a digital ghost, a door that had slammed shut just as someone reached for the handle.
"I’m not calling to talk, Eli," Arthur’s voice finally came through, sounding tired but strangely peaceful. "I’m just sitting by the fire, and this song came back to me. I figured you were asleep, and that’s fine. I just wanted you to hear the music one last time so you'd know I’m not carrying the weight anymore. You shouldn't either. Goodnight, old friend." missed_call
Elias spent the next three years wondering what those four rings were meant to say. Arthur had been his best friend, then his business partner, and finally, his greatest rival. They hadn't spoken in a decade following a bitter legal battle that stripped Arthur of his pride and Elias of his conscience. The morning after that missed call, Elias learned that Arthur had passed away in his sleep from a long-hidden illness. The guilt became a permanent resident in Elias's chest
The phone buzzed on the mahogany nightstand, its screen illuminating a dark, silent room. It was 3:14 AM. Elias watched the name "Arthur" flicker in the darkness, but he didn't reach for it. He couldn't. By the time the screen went black and the silence returned, the notification sat there like a heavy weight: Missed Call (1) – Arthur. A curse
There was no voice. Instead, there was the sound of a crackling campfire and the distant, muffled tune of a harmonica—a melody they had written together when they were twenty and broke, camping in the Cascades. Then, a soft laugh.