I open the draft again in the bathroom at Priya's engagement dinner because the group chat trivia outside is too loud and I need somewhere the noise can't find me. It's the message to Dean I've had saved for four months, never sent, never deleted, the little pencil icon still blinking next to his name like it's mid thought. I know what it says. I wrote it enough times to have it memorized, the part where I say I don't want anything, I just want him to know the plant survived. Tonight it says the season survived. Not the plant. The season.
I read it twice to be sure I'm not the one misremembering. I check the last edited time, four months ago, same as always, nothing recent, no proof anyone touched it but me. My thumb hovers over delete and I put the phone face down on my knee instead, the way you'd cover something that looked back at you.
Someone knocks. I say one second. I pick the phone back up and the draft is still open, still says season, and I realize I'm not scared that it changed. I'm scared it didn't, and I've just never actually read my own handwriting before tonight.