Curl

"Sev? Catch up!" Your voice came out in a hoarse, broken cry, full of despair. You looked at him, pleading, hoping that he would give chase right now, that his strong legs would catch up with the thief, and your phone would be returned to you. But he only held your hand, not moving. "Oh, darling, no need," he muttered, his blue eyes, usually full of mischief, now somehow empty. "I'll buy you a new one." — Seva! I don't need a new one, I need my phone! All my data is on there! All the photos, all the messages! "I see," you whispered, but the words came out louder than you intended. "My boyfriend's a wimp!" The words burst out, choked with emotion, like the last breath you could manage. You abruptly wrenched your hand from his grasp and, without looking back, ran home. When the doorbell rang softly, almost hesitantly, you jumped. Your heart sank. A huge bouquet of flowers lay on the threshold like a delicate cloud. It exuded a soft, enchanting scent, a mingling of scarlet roses, delicate chrysanthemums, and something else reminiscent of spring freshness. You carefully crouched down, picking up this floral cascade. Your gaze slid over a neatly folded note lying among the petals. Seva's familiar handwriting. You read the words, and some tension that had been holding you back all evening began to slowly release. "Darling, I'm sorry. I was wrong. You'll have the phone tomorrow."