I Love You Masud Please Pickup The Phone

Okay, so picture this: I'm currently staring at my phone. Like, really staring. It's almost uncomfortable how intense my gaze is. And guess who I'm hoping will call? You guessed it! Masud.

Seriously, Masud, where are you? Are you wrestling a bear? Did you accidentally teleport to another dimension? Because I'm starting to get worried... well, maybe not worried-worried, but you know, a little anxious. Okay, maybe a tad more than a tad. Fine! I'm low-key freaking out. Happy now?

I love you, Masud! Yes, I said it. Out loud. (Well, in text. Close enough.) Don't make me regret being so vulnerable here! I'm baring my soul, one slightly panicked paragraph at a time. Please, please just pick up the phone.

I know, I know, everyone gets busy. We all have lives. Work, errands, maybe even, gasp, other friends (just kidding... mostly). But still! A quick call wouldn't hurt, right? Just a "Hey, I'm alive and well, and your frantic voicemails are adorable." Is that too much to ask?

Okay, I'm exaggerating about the voicemails. There's only been one. And I may have accidentally left it on speaker in the grocery store checkout line. Details, details! The point is, communication is key! And right now, the key to my sanity is hearing your voice.

I've considered all the possibilities. Maybe your phone died. Maybe you accidentally threw it into a volcano (unlikely, but hey, stranger things have happened). Maybe you're participating in some kind of silent retreat and forgot to tell me. Or maybe... (dramatic music swells) ...you're being held captive by squirrels who demand interpretive dance in exchange for your freedom. Okay, I'm getting carried away. But you get the idea.

Seriously though, Masud, if you're out there, send a sign! A smoke signal, a carrier pigeon, a raven with a tiny note tied to its leg… I'm not picky. Just let me know you're okay.

I'm trying to be patient. I really am. I'm making myself a cup of tea. I'm listening to calming music. I'm even trying to meditate (keyword: trying). But all I can think about is your goofy laugh and the way you always know how to make me smile. Damn it, Masud, you're good! Too good!

Maybe I should text. No, I already texted. Like, five times. Okay, maybe six. But who's counting? Besides, calling feels more personal, you know? It's like a direct line to your soul… or at least your eardrum. Just answer the darn phone!

I'm starting to invent elaborate scenarios in my head where I dramatically rescue you from whatever peril you're undoubtedly in. I'd scale mountains! I'd fight dragons! I'd even learn to speak fluent Squirrel-ese if it meant getting you back. (Okay, maybe not the Squirrel-ese thing. That sounds hard.)

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I miss you. A lot. And I'm probably being ridiculous. But that's just how I roll. Dramatic, slightly irrational, and hopelessly in love with a guy who's currently MIA. Which, by the way, is not a good look, Masud. Not a good look at all.

So, please, Masud, if you're reading this, hear my plea! Let your phone ring! Let me hear your voice! Save me from my own overactive imagination!

Okay, I'm going to go make another cup of tea. And maybe practice my Squirrel-ese, just in case. You never know. Seriously though, call me. I'm waiting... (impatiently, but still waiting).

One last thing: I really, really love you. And I promise to never leave you on read again. (Unless it's really, really necessary. You know, like during a squirrel uprising.)

PICK UP THE PHONE, MASUD!