Tyler’s last call

Tyler met Ava when they were sixteen.

She wasn't his first girlfriend.

She was his first home.

On the nights when the world felt too heavy, she'd stay on the phone until he fell asleep. When he doubted himself, she'd smile and say, "Even if the whole world gives up on you... I'll still be here."

He believed her.

Years passed. They planned everything together—a tiny apartment, a dog named Ghost, and a future they couldn't wait to live.

Then one rainy evening, Ava called him.

"Can you come get me?"

Tyler looked at the clock. He was in the studio, finally recording the song he'd dreamed about for years.

"Give me thirty minutes," he replied. "Don't go anywhere. I'll be there."

She laughed softly.

"Okay... I'll wait."

Those were the last words he ever heard from her.

Twenty minutes later, a drunk driver ran a red light.

She never made it home.

Tyler arrived at the hospital with flowers in his hands.

He left carrying nothing but silence.

For years, he couldn't forgive himself.

He replayed that phone call every night, wondering if leaving the studio a little earlier would've changed everything.

He never deleted her number.

Every time life became too much, he'd call it just to hear the automated message:

"The number you have dialed is no longer in service."

It was the closest thing he had left to hearing her voice.

People said time heals.

Tyler learned that time doesn't heal every wound.

Sometimes it just teaches you how to smile while carrying a heart that never healed.

And every time it rained...

He still found himself whispering into the empty passenger seat,

"I'm here now, Ava... I'm just thirty minutes too late."