Unsent Messages Novels & Stories

Don't try to worm your way in. ... Amid the avalanche of hateful messages, only one message by "Ben" had been opened. He'd sent a single question mark. I hadn't replied. But the chat box had once been filled with a long, unsent message. In the end, after editing and deleting, only one word remained: [Goodbye] And even that… I didn't send. "Hailey, don't take it to heart. Actually…" "I know. I'm not bothered." I smiled and reached for my phone.

it was already too late. While waiting in line for airport security, his hands trembled as he sent dozens of jumbled messages to Aria's encrypted number, the one he'd long ago set to one-way block. He rambled, pouring out years of suppressed true feelings he hadn't even dared admit to himself. He frantically expressed how much he 'owed' her and the heart-wrenching regret he felt now. But after sending all the messages, all he got back was a cold, red warning: "Message Undeliverable. Recipient has permanently deactivated this number."

‌ U⁠n‍kn‍own number. A new messag‍e⁠ waiting. An‍d‍ t‍his time… it was‌n‌’‌t just watching any‌more.

He looked at the message for a long time. I wondered how long it would take. Seven words. No punctuation at the end. No exclamation mark, no question mark, nothing that softened or inflected or indicated how she meant it. Just the words themselves sitting on his screen with the patient weight of something that had been waiting fifteen years to be said and had finally found its moment. He put the phone down. Picked it up. Put it down again. He had sent the email. He had typed it and deleted it and typed it again and then sent it before he could talk himself out of it and now she had responded in under four hours with seven words that told him nothing and everything simultaneously.

What I want is the notification screen, which on most basic phones shows message previews before you unlock. I press the button again and let the screen sit at the lock screen, the display bright in the dim laundry room. One message preview. The notification hasn't been cleared. It's from a number with no name attached, just eleven digits, no contact saved. The preview shows the first line of the message before it cuts off. The next step depends on the board vote. Stand by and don't, That's where the preview ends. I read it twice. Then a third time. The next step depends on the board vote.

Quinn walked up to his desk and checked his screen to find that he had yet another [Quinn] in his textbox, ready to be sent. Sam finally realized that, along with the many other [Quinn] messages he had already sent in the group. He was flabbergasted—his mind was definitely so full with thoughts about Quinn just now, but he never noticed that! Just then, someone typed in the group: [Was Mr. Saunders flirting with Ms. Summer? Wrong chat, maybe?] As soon as it was typed, another message from the same person followed: [Whoops. Wrong chat!] Both messages were soon deleted, while Sam finally recovered from his shock to realize that the messages could be deleted. However, when he tried to do that,

Is this your reason for the divorce papers ? I hit send, Nothing, No “delivered.” No “read.” I frowned and tried again . I sent 2 exclamation marks. Again, nothing. The messages just sat there, floating, unsent . My chest tightened. I stared at the screen, then locked it, then unlocked it again, as if the status might magically change if I blinked hard enough. Nothing. I turned on my airplane mode and turned it back off, nothing still. A cold realization slid into place, slow and ugly.

It doesn't. I lean back in the chair and close my eyes for five seconds. When I open them again, I pull my laptop closer and open the inbox. 364 unread messages. I filter to the last 24 hours. Most of it is pure noise—board updates, analyst notes, congratulations on the acquisition. I scroll past them until one subject line stops my thumb cold. “I still remember how you felt inside my mouth.” Sender: rachel.priv@anonymous-proxy.net I click it anyway, and the body loads.

Didn't want to open it but the notification got annoying and I wanted to snooze it only to tap on the messages from unknown. "What tye fu@k?" ... TBC

"Let me check the school group chat." I unlocked the screen, opening the app. The university group chat was usually a chaotic mess of hundreds of unread messages, people arguing about assignments, sharing stupid memes, or gossiping about campus drama. My thumb scrolled rapidly through the wall of text, my eyes scanning past the old messages from yesterday, searching for any mention of Noah’s name or a funeral service date. The scrolling slowed down. My eyes locked onto a message sent just two minutes ago. Then another one. A picture file was uploaded right after it.