I was unpacking the last of my boxes, finally nearing the end of moving into my new apartment. Carefully placing my parents’ wedding china in the cabinet and folding soft, new towels into the linen closet, I let out a deep sigh, surveying my progress.

“Only one more box, and then I’m officially all settled in,” I muttered to myself, releasing an exhausted huff.

That last box had been sitting untouched, its contents too sentimental to confront until now. Filled with mementos I rarely looked at but couldn’t bring myself to discard, it felt like opening a time capsule of my past.

Just as I reached into it, my phone rang from the kitchen counter. I paused, relieved by the distraction. “Saved by the bell,” I thought, hurrying to answer, assuming it was Sarah, my best friend.

Sarah, with her meticulous, Type-A personality, had been checking in on me constantly since I moved. She knew I was the opposite—scatterbrained and prone to procrastination—and probably wanted an update on my progress.

But when I glanced at the screen, my heart skipped a beat.

“What the…” I muttered, staring at the caller ID. The name displayed was the last one I expected to see. We hadn’t spoken in three years, let alone seen each other.

I hesitated, wondering if I should answer. Maybe it was a mistake—a butt dial, perhaps.

“Hello?” I said cautiously, pressing the phone to my ear.

“Hi. Is this Sabrina?”

The deep, familiar voice sent a jolt through me. I played dumb, hoping he couldn’t tell I’d kept his number saved all this time.

“Yes, it is. Who’s this?”

“It’s Brandan,” he said, his voice unmistakable. My ex-boyfriend. My first boyfriend. My first true love.