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7 missed calls.

When I saw this flashed on my cellphone screen this morning, I knew my day would end this way. In a walk along this road connecting the college to Commonwealth Avenue. With you.

It’d been a while.

“How have you been?” Your voice was a bit shaky. If I didn’t know you better, I’d say you were nervous.

“Great,” I answered with a slice across my lower face. “And you? How’s London?”

“Well, it’s still London.” A slight laughter went through your lips.

And then, silence. I tried to come up with something to say to keep the conversation flowing but I couldn’t. I just felt I didn’t know you anymore. After two years of being away, I felt like nothing was ever the same with you.

You rebooted the conversation. “I want to tell you something.”

“Go ahead.”

You paused. Seemed hesitant to say it. “I’m leaving again. Next week. For good.”

“For Brisbane, I know. For what it’s worth, Australia is nearer than UK.”

“Yeah.”

And then, there was silence again. We were walking much more slowly than usual. I felt like I didn’t want to reach the end of this road.

“I want to tell you something.”

“You already told me.”

We reached the end of the road.

You suggested, “Tell you what. Why don’t we walk back and forth seven times? You still like walking. Don’t you?”

“Yeah. Sure.”

And then our conversation hit another dead end. No one said a word for eight seconds, or so. It was my turn to revive the chatting.

“Uhm, you know what, I missed this.”

“You did?” You smiled.

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence. In radio, they call it “dead air.”

“You know what else I missed?” I avoided looking at you.

“What?”

“Your missed calls,” I replied. “You know, back when we were close friends…”

“We’re still close friends.” You interrupted me.

“You know, back then, before you left, you used to give me those missed calls. Seven missed calls. Every single morning. Never fails. Seven missed calls.”

“Haha. I’m glad I rang your phone seven times this morning.”

Dead end. We reached the other end of the road.

“Do you know what my favourite number is?” You turned around and started walking back.

I followed you. “What?”

“Seven.”

“Why am I not surprised?”

You snickered. I missed that, too. And then, silence. Again.

You changed the topic. “You said you were thinking about studying in London.”

“Not anymore,” I answered. “It just crossed my mind. You know, you are all that I wanted…”

You stopped walking for a second there.

“…to be,” I continued. And you continued walking. “You’re all that I wanted to be. I envy you.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“I want to tell you something.”

“You still haven’t told me? I thought you already did.”

“Not yet.”

“So what is it?”

“Back then, you know, when we were close friends, er, those missed calls, uhm… It’s silly… but, well, er, did you know why I would ring your phone seven times?”

“Yeah. You told me it should serve as my alarm clock. But I just let you do it even when I was already awake.”

“Yeah. That’s right.”

We reached the end again. Our third turn.

“You never picked up.”

“You wanted me to pick up?”

“Not really. I just wondered if you ever thought about picking up.”

“Well, yeah. I guess.”

Silence. Again. I saw you trying to start another conversation but you held back. So I saved it.

“Do you know my favourite number?” I asked.

“No. You never told me.”

“You never noticed?”

“What is it?”

“Eight.”

“Why?”

“You know, it just reminds me of endlessness. Of eternity. Of continuum. Of infinity. Of forever.”

You gave me a you’re-so-mushy look.

“What?!” I protested. “It’s my fave number! Why do you care?!” And then I laughed. And then, I just stopped. “I just wish everything would be like that. Never-ending. Nothing has to stop. Nothing has to end. Nothing has to leave.”

Your arms brushed with mine.

“Why do you like seven?” I asked.

“No reason. I just like it. I think it’s just perfect. Divine number.”

“You know what, back then, every morning, every time my phone stopped ringing, I wished there’d be one more?”

“Why?”

“Because I told myself, ‘if it rings for the eighth time, I will pick up.’ But it never did. ”

“And what would you say? What would you have told me?”

“I would’ve told you…”

Dead end. Another turn. Fourth lap.

“You would’ve told me what?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“I would’ve asked what those seven missed calls really meant.”

“Now you know.”

“Yeah.”

Another moment of silence.

“So you’re flying to Brisbane. Gawd, I envy you, globetrotter. I’ve always wanted to be you.”

“And I’ve always wanted you.”

“Why would you want to be me, I mean… I haven’t accomplished anything. I haven’t been anywhere. I’m no one. I’m not like you…” And then, I wondered if I heard it right. “What?”

“You heard what I just said.”

“Say it again.”

“Well, uhm, you had your chance.”

“Was there a ‘to be’ in what you said?”

You had a smug look painted on your face. But you looked relieved, too.

I was confused. “But back then, in college, you never told me. You didn’t even try to…”

You cut me off. “I tried. I tried to tell you. Every day. Seven times every morning. But you never answered.”

…

When I came home, my phone started ringing. And I couldn’t pick up. I just watched it vibrate on my side table. Seven rings, and then a seven-second pause and then seven rings again. The ringing seemed endless. When it finally stopped, a message was displayed on my phone screen: “7 missed calls.”

It would ring again. One more.

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