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Sitting on my brown leather couch, I fiddled with my phone in the palm of my hand until I could muster up the right way to start small talk with the woman who made it clear just how much she hated that kind of thing when we’d met at the bar.

Me: Been thinking about you…

No. That’s way too forward.

Me: Want to grab a drink?

What was I trying to do? Repeat our first “date?”

Erasing each text over and over, I finally settled on something that would probably go unanswered anyway.

Me: Hey, Andi. Are you working tonight?

It definitely didn’t scream ‘I have game,’ but it was a shot in the dark at least.

The longer my text went unreturned, I began to spiral. She probably thought I was a stage five clinger wanting to stalk her at work again.

Just as I tipped back the rest of my beverage, a text came through, putting me out of my misery—assuming it was her.

Andi: Why? Looking to stalk me again?

I knew it.

She had to think I was a fucking creep. Why would I think that was a good way to open a conversation between us?

Scolding myself, I willed my mind to literally think of something—anything—better to say.

Me: I just wanted to talk.

The only way to dig myself out of the creepy hole was to be honest.

Me: That night between us ended rather quickly. I wanted to make sure everything was all right.

Andi: Well, to answer your question, no, I’m not working. I called out tonight.

Andi: So, I’m free to talk. But just over text. I’m not feeling the greatest.

Immediately, my chest ached at the thought of her not feeling well. Composing my next text, alarm bells went off in my head after I pressed send.

Me: Are you okay? Is there anything I can send over to make you feel better?

I couldn’t remember the last time I was worried about someone in my life simply because they didn’t feel good.

Andi: No, that’s okay. That’s really sweet of you, but I’m not sick or anything. Just a massive headache and some family stuff going on.

Me: Want to talk about it?

I watched my screen as the typing bubble popped up and went away before her answer eventually came through.

Andi: I hardly talk to my best friends about this kind of stuff. What makes you think I’d open up to you?

She was so damn stubborn. The more Andi pulled back, the more I wanted to push her. Something about the way she made it so goddamn impossible to get to know her only caused me to want to work harder.

Me: Because maybe you want someone who is just going to listen without giving their opinion.

Andi: Even if you are a good listener, I’ve never been a good talker.

Me: C’mon, Trouble. Give me your best attempt.