The Unplugging

Mara stood in her apartment at 2 AM, staring at the **cable** modem whose lights had gone dark. Three days without internet, and she was surprised to find she didn't miss it as much as she'd expected. The constant scroll of her **iPhone** had become a reflex she barely noticed, her thumb swiping through other people's lives while hers gathered dust in corners.

The delivery guy — whose name she learned was Elias, not 'the spinach guy' as she'd mentally dubbed him — knocked at exactly the same time each Tuesday. Always with the same order: bag of pre-washed **spinach**, Greek yogurt, the expensive **vitamin** supplements her doctor insisted she needed for 'stress management.' The pharmaceutical kind, not the sunshine kind.

"You still not fixed your internet?" Elias asked, leaning against her doorframe. He'd started lingering longer each week. First just an extra minute. Then five. Now they were having conversations that felt suspiciously like the early stages of something.

"Maybe I don't want to," she said, which was half true. The silence in her apartment had shifted from oppressive to almost companionable. She'd forgotten what her own thoughts sounded like without the background hum of notifications.

Elias laughed, and she noticed the way his eyes crinkled at the corners. "My dad always said disconnection is the first sign of either enlightenment or a breakdown. Haven't figured out which one you're aiming for."

"Ask me again after the **vitamin** D kicks in."

They stood there for a moment longer than necessary, the air thick with something Mara hadn't felt in years — the terrifying, electric possibility of a **friend** who might become something more. Her **iPhone** sat on the counter behind her, dark and silent for once, like it was giving them space.

"I could help you fix the modem," Elias offered. "Or we could leave it broken. See what happens."

Mara smiled, and for the first time in months, it reached her eyes. "Let's see what happens."