“Owen asked me to tell you that your parents don’t want you staying overseas.”

Claire’s voice note arrived while I was revising the third draft of the storefront concept at work.

I ignored it.

Half an hour later, she sent another.

“Nat, I know you might still be mad,

She didn’t reply.

A while later, she wrote in the group chat, “Nat won’t give me the address. Don’t panic, Mason. Give her time.”

Give me time.

I was already gone, and she was still beside him, playing the endlessly understanding one.

Lukas tapped the desk.

“Nat, I need to tell you something. Please don’t be mad.”

A month later, Claire’s message crossed the nine-hour time difference.

It was three in the morning in Zurich.

Noon in California.

I woke up and glanced at it.

“Mason came to see me last week. He asked