Operation Don't Text Him

My friends made a group chat to stop me texting my ex. It's been running for forty-one days.

It's called "Operation Don't Text Him 🚨." Four members. Me, Priya, Jess, and Maya. They created it after I drunk-texted Ryan at 3 AM for the fourth time in a month. Priya said, "Right, that's enough. Intervention."

The rules are simple. If I feel the urge, I message the group first. Not Ryan. Anyone awake responds. No judgement. No "I told you so." Just company.

At first I felt ridiculous. A grown woman with a text-ban buddy system. But it worked. Day three, I sent "I want to text him" at 1 AM. Maya replied in a minute. "Put the phone down. Come over. I've got Pringles."

Day twelve, I sent a photo of my thumb hovering over his name. Jess replied with forty crying-laughing emojis, then a voice note of her singing badly until I smiled.

Day twenty-six, Priya sent a screenshot of her own phone. A half-written message to her ex from two years ago. "I'm not even over mine," she wrote. "We're doing this together."

Tonight, 2 AM, I scrolled back through the whole chat. Forty-one days of messages. Stupid memes. Snack photos. "Are you alive?" "Yes." "Good."

Not one night without a reply.

I used to think healing meant being strong.

It turns out it just means someone's awake when you aren't.

I never texted him once.

They were always faster.