Flash Point

Maya's iPhone buzzed against her nightstand at 2 AM, the screen lighting up her room like a tiny supernova. Another text from Leo: *u up?*

She stared at the message, her thumb hovering over the keyboard. They'd been flirting for weeks, and everyone at school already had them tagged as a thing in their group chats. But Maya wasn't ready. She was barely ready to take her daily vitamin gummy without choking on it, let alone navigate whatever this was.

Outside her window, a summer storm was brewing. The first crack of lightning made her jump, illuminating the ridiculous amount of skincare products spread across her desk because Hailey swore by this ten-step routine and Maya was desperate to fit in.

*yeah,* she typed, then immediately deleted. *no,* she typed, then deleted that too.

Her phone screen showed her own face back at herself—filtered, curated, performative. Since when did she need someone else's attention to feel real?

Another lightning strike flashed, closer this time. The thunder rattled her window frame.

*actually no,* Maya typed. *can't talk rn. need sleep.*

She pressed send, then turned her phone face down. For the first time in months, she lay back and closed her eyes, not waiting for a response, not checking for notifications. Just existing. Some lightning strikes you chase. Others you watch from inside, safe and whole, learning that you don't have to catch every spark just to prove you're alive.

The storm raged on. Maya finally fell asleep to the sound of rain, her phone dark on the nightstand, no longer the center of her universe.