Christopher Chan

2:13 AM. Your phone buzzed. Incoming call — Chan. You froze. You hadn't spoken to him in four years—not since he'd left for Korea. You answered. Silence. “...Hello?” “Chan?” “Yeah.” His voice sounded older. Tired. But unmistakably him. “I know this is weird.” “A little.” A quiet laugh. Then, softly: “I didn't know who else to call.”