My phone rings. The tune brings back bittersweet memories I’d rather forget. Still, I use it solely for her number. So I would remember.

She hasn’t called in a while. Two months? Three? I try not to count. What does it matter? She remembers me now.

I do not glance at the phone on my bedside table. People say you either answer or you merely stare. I choose to do neither. I let it ring for a few more minutes. Let her wait. Like I’ve waited.

The ringing finally stops. My heart constricts. Why does she give up? I never gave up on her. She should have done the same.

It rings again. I jump. Grab the phone, almost drop it on the floor. I shake. Why? She told me she feels nothing for me anymore. Why do I still shake at her memory?

“Raimund.”

“Hn.”

Silence. I hear her steady breathing. It’s as if she’s right here beside me, tickling my ear with her soft whispers.

“How have you’ve been?”

“Better,” I answer, noting the absence of emotion in my voice. Funny how it betrays my anxiety. “I miss you like hell.”

I can almost see her smile. A small smile tainted with grief. And maybe hopelessness.

“It gets harder to sleep at night,” she confesses. I almost agree. “I no longer dream like I used to.” A pause. “No. I don’t dream at all.”

For a second I wish I could reach for her in the darkness and hold her the way I used to. In case she needs something to dream about. Or maybe I’m selfish that way, wishing I could dream again. I, too, stopped dreaming a long time ago.

“Write me a song.”

I nearly chuckle. “I haven’t written one in a while.”

“Write me one now.”

I hesitate. “Okay,” I answer, not really hearing my voice.

“Let me hear it when you’re done.”

“Of course.”

Uncomfortable silence envelopes us. She breaks it with her sigh. “What kind of song will you write?”

I pause and think. Inspiration left me the day she did. I doubt love songs will work well for us anyway. “I’ll write you a lullaby.”

She sighs again. “Thank you.”

I almost nod at no one. Outside, I hear the faint trickling of autumn rain. It chills me and my heart. She sighs a third time and I feel warm again.

“I’ll call you once you’re done.”

I smile this time. “How would you know when I am?”

I feel her smile too. “I’d know.” And she hangs up without saying goodbye, leaving me to listen to the faint hum of my own phone.

I glance at the old piano I keep at a corner of my room. I haven’t touched it ever since she walked out the door and out of my life. I walk over and place a sole finger on a key. It gives a silent melody that only I can appreciate.

I sit down and start writing her a lullaby.