Bab 23: Akward texting

It had only been a few minutes since I sent the follow request to Carmen Steele, and I was sprawled out on my bed, staring at the ceiling. Why had I even bothered? There was no way she would follow me back. Carmen was the epitome of cool, aloof sophistication. Someone like her wouldn't give someone like me a second glance.

As these thoughts spiraled in my mind, I heard my mother's voice cutting through the silence like a knife. "Elena, come make dinner for us! We're hungry!"

I let out an angry sigh, grabbing my phone and trudging to the kitchen. My mother was waiting there, arms crossed and an impatient scowl on her face.

"You know, Elena, you could be a little more useful around here," she said, her tone dripping with disdain.

I ignored her, heading straight to the fridge to gather ingredients for dinner. I pulled out some chicken breasts, a head of broccoli, and a few potatoes. If I was going to be forced into this chore, I might as well make something halfway decent.

I set about chopping the vegetables, my knife moving with more force than necessary as I imagined it was my mother's face under the blade.

The thought of poisoning her and Clara flitted through my mind. It was a dark, fleeting fantasy that I quickly pushed aside. No, I would just cook the meal and get through the evening. I seasoned the chicken with salt, pepper, and a hint of rosemary, then set it to sear in a hot skillet.

The broccoli went into a pot to steam, and I began slicing the potatoes into thin rounds, tossing them with olive oil and herbs before spreading them on a baking sheet to roast.

As I cooked, I let my mind wander, trying to think of anything but the drudgery of my current task. I set the table, placing the finished dishes in the center. The smell of the meal filled the kitchen, and despite everything, I had to admit it smelled good.

My mother and Clara finally emerged, drawn by the scent. They sat down, eyeing the food with approval. "Well, at least you can cook," my mother muttered, and I felt a flicker of satisfaction despite myself.

We ate in relative silence, the only sound the clinking of cutlery against plates. I scrolled through an influencer's Instagram page, trying to tune out the room around me. As I took a sip of my juice, my phone buzzed with a notification. I glanced at the screen and nearly choked.

"Carmen Steele has followed you back."

I spat my juice all over Clara, who shrieked in disgust. "Elena! What the hell?"

"Sorry!" I muttered, not really meaning it. I pushed my plate away and bolted from the table, ignoring my mother's protests. I took the stairs two at a time, nearly tripping in my haste. I slammed my bedroom door behind me, leaning against it as I tried to catch my breath.

Why had Carmen followed me back? My heart raced as I stared at my phone, unsure of what to do next. And then, just as I was starting to calm down, another notification popped up.

"Hi."

Carmen had messaged me. For a moment, I was frozen, my mind blank. What was I supposed to say? How was I supposed to respond to someone like her? I began pacing my room, my thoughts racing. I needed advice.

I dialed Tyron's number, my hands shaking slightly. He picked up on the third ring. "Hey, Elena. What's up?"

"Tyron, you won't believe this," I blurted out. "Carmen Steele just followed me back on Instagram. And she sent me a message."

There was a moment of stunned silence on the other end of the line. "Wait, what? Carmen Steele? The Carmen Steele?"

"Yes, the Carmen Steele," I said, my voice a mix of excitement and anxiety. "She sent me a message saying 'Hi.' What do I do?"

Tyron laughed, a sound of genuine amusement. "Well, first of all, don't freak out. Just reply. Say 'Hi, how are you?' or something."

"I don't know, Tyron," I said, feeling my earlier panic resurface. "What if I say the wrong thing?"

"Elena, you're overthinking this," he said firmly. "Just be yourself. She followed you for a reason, right? So don't stress. Just reply and see where it goes."

I sighed, knowing he was right but still feeling the weight of the moment. "Okay, okay. I'll do it."

"Good. And keep me updated, okay? I want to know how this plays out."

I promised I would, then hung up, feeling slightly more confident. I took a deep breath and opened the message from Carmen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a moment before I typed out a response.

"Hi, how are you?"

I hit send, my heart pounding in my chest. The message was simple, but it was a start. Now all I could do was wait and hope that this conversation would lead to something more.

I stared at the screen, waiting for Carmen's response. The seconds seemed to stretch into minutes, and I wondered if she would think my message was too casual, too simple. Finally, my phone buzzed with her reply.

"Hi. I'm doing well. How about you?"

I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding. At least she responded. I quickly typed back, "I'm good, thanks."

There was a pause, and then Carmen's next message came through. "I'm working late tonight, lots of documents to review. What about you?"

Her response felt so formal, so devoid of any warmth. No emojis, just straight to the point. I felt a bit awkward, unsure of how to navigate this conversation. "I just finished making dinner for my family," I replied. "Nothing as exciting as your work."

Again, there was a pause. "Work can be demanding, but I enjoy it. It's satisfying to see everything come together."

I couldn't help but feel a little annoyed. She knew I was a model; did she really think her office work was that much more interesting? "I get that," I typed back. "Modeling can be pretty intense too, lots of shoots and traveling." Even if for the moment I don't have that.

"Yes, I imagine it's quite demanding. Balancing schedules must be a challenge," she replied, still in that same, cold tone.

I felt a strange mix of frustration and excitement. This was not going as I had hoped, but at least we were talking. I decided to take a chance and steer the conversation towards something more personal. "You had asked me if I wanted to have coffee with you, so why not tomorrow morning?"

For a moment, there was no response. I stared at the screen, my anxiety rising with each passing second. What if she didn't want to meet after all? What if I had misread everything?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, my phone buzzed again. "Yes. Let's say tomorrow at 9 am at Royal Spare Café."

I couldn't help but smile. Despite the awkwardness, we had made plans to meet. Now I just had to survive the night and make it to tomorrow morning without letting my nerves get the better of me.

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