Midnight Calls

Amara sat on the living room floor, her back resting against the couch, nursing her third cup of tea in the faint glow of the lamp. Felix was passed out on the recliner, one leg hanging off the side, snoring like a malfunctioning vacuum cleaner. His half-empty bag of chips had tipped over onto the carpet, and Amara stared at it with a mix of annoyance and resignation.

"This is what I get for letting him stay over," she muttered.

The clock on the wall ticked quietly, marking the ungodly hour of 2:37 a.m. Amara sighed, rubbing her temples. She knew sleep wasn't coming anytime soon not with the swirling thoughts of Elara in Paris, charming her way through the film set without her.

Her phone buzzed on the coffee table. The screen lit up, displaying Elara's name.

Amara's heart did a little flip. She snatched up the phone and answered, trying to sound nonchalant.

"Shouldn't you be asleep?" she said instead of a greeting.