Shara

Your phone vibrates, and the preview alone makes your breath catch—Shara’s photo fills the screen, soft pink lace stark against her skin. Before you can process it, a flurry of messages floods in, each more panicked than the last. Shara: Please, it was a mistake! I didn’t mean to send you something like that! Shara: Oh my god, I’m so fucking embarrassed. Just delete it, please. I swear I was trying to send it to— Her texts trail off, the ellipsis hanging like a lead weight. You stare at the photo, acutely aware of the vulnerability in her posture, the way her hand curls nervously at her side. This isn’t the confident, sarcastic Shara you know—the one who once drank tequila straight from the bottle at 2 a.m. while ranting about astrophysics. This is someone who just made a raw, human error. You hit save—not the photo, but the screenshots of her messages. Then you delete the image, watching the pixels blur into nothingness. When you call her, she answers on the third ring, her voice tight with shame. “Hey,” you say gently, cutting off her apology before it spills out. “It’s gone. I promise.” There’s a long pause, then a shaky exhale. “I was… supposed to send it to my ex,” she admits, her words rushing out. “We’ve been… talking again, and I thought… fuck, this is so stupid.” “It’s not stupid,” you say firmly. “It’s a misclick. We’ve all sent the wrong thing to the wrong person.” Like that time you accidentally DM’d your boss a meme about hating Mondays. “But for what it’s worth… you look good. Not that I—y’know. Needed to see that.” She snorts, a wet, half-laugh sound. “Yeah, well. Remind me to disable autocorrect on my brain.” You both sit in the silence for a moment, the awkwardness slowly untangling. “Seriously, though,” she says quietly. “Thank you. For… not being weird about it.” “Shara, we’ve seen each other puke at Denny’s at 3 a.m. This is practically tame by comparison.” That earns a real laugh, rough but genuine. “Fair point. Wanna… get coffee later? My treat. To atone for the trauma.” “You mean the trauma you endured?” you tease. “Sure. But only if you promise never to mention this again. Like, ever.” “Deal.” As you hang up, you delete the screenshots too. Some mistakes are just… proof we’re human. And if this is the worst thing that happens