Emma woke up the next morning, replaying snippets of last night’s text exchange with her “wrong number therapist.” She laughed to herself, thinking of how he’d poked fun at her disastrous date with Brad and made her feel strangely… normal. For someone she hadn’t even met, he’d been surprisingly comforting.

In the daylight, though, her brief interaction felt like a funny little blip, something to laugh about with her best friend Sophie and then move on from. Emma poured herself a coffee, sat down on her little apartment’s kitchen stool, and fired off a text to Sophie, eager to share the story.

> Emma: Sooo… Last night, I accidentally texted my rant about Brad to a stranger instead of you.

Within seconds, Sophie replied, clearly awake and intrigued.

> Sophie: OMG, what? Please tell me you didn’t spill ALL the details…

> Emma: I may have poured out my ENTIRE dating history. And, um, he… actually encouraged me? Turned into a whole therapy session.

> Sophie: Did he ghost you after realizing you’re crazy?

> Emma: No, he was totally into it! He even joked that he’s sending me a bill for his “therapy” services.

> Sophie: Oooh. So, Mr. Wrong Number has a sense of humor? Intriguing…

> Emma: Don’t get ideas! He’s just some random guy. It was a one-time thing. Besides, I don’t even know his name.

> Sophie: Sounds like a rom-com plot to me. Don’t be surprised if he texts you again. You guys already have more chemistry than you and Brad did.

Emma rolled her eyes, though she secretly agreed with Sophie. She certainly wouldn’t complain if he texted again, but she had no intention of reaching out herself. That would be ridiculous.

But then, as if summoned by the universe, her phone buzzed. And there it was—a message from her mystery therapist.

> Unknown Number: Hey, Pepper.

She nearly spit out her coffee. Had he just called her “Pepper”? Her cheeks flushed a bit, both flattered and caught off guard. Not knowing what else to do, she texted back.

> Emma: "Pepper"?

> Unknown Number: Yeah. I figured you’re fiery and probably like spicy food? Thought it suited you.

Emma bit her lip, trying to stifle a grin. She didn’t know whether to find it charming or presumptuous, but “Pepper” felt oddly fitting.

> Emma: Fine, “Pepper” it is. And what do I call you?

> Unknown Number: Hm. Let’s go with “Captain Marvel.”

She laughed out loud, shaking her head in disbelief.

> Emma: Captain Marvel? Really? How about Captain Sarcastic instead?

> Captain Marvel: Hey, Captain Marvel is clever,powerful, and slightly sarcastic. I’m sticking with it.

> Emma: Alright, Captain Marvel. Consider it official. Pepper and Captain Marvel, at your service.

As they texted, Emma found herself relaxing, her usual guarded demeanor slowly melting away. Talking to “Captain Marvel” was like slipping into a warm, familiar routine she hadn’t realized she missed. There was no pressure to be anything but herself.

Across town, Liam settled back on his couch, amused by their conversation. For the first time in a long time, he felt genuinely entertained. Sure, he was texting a stranger he’d probably never meet, but he’d been looking forward to this all morning.

He typed quickly, feeling that familiar urge to keep The conversation flowing.

> Captain Marvel: Alright, Pepper. Now that we’re on “nickname basis,” let’s play a game. Tell me something weird about yourself.

> Pepper: Weird? Like, I don’t own any plants because I’m a notorious plant killer?

> Captain Marvel: Plant killer? Wow. That’s intense. I’ll make sure never to entrust you with my favorite cactus.

> Pepper: Ha! Yeah, probably smart. I’m also a firm believer that pineapple on pizza is the universe’s worst crime.

> Captain Marvel: Gasp. That might be a deal- breaker. Pepper, you just lost some serious points.

Emma laughed, leaning back against her kitchen counter as she sipped her coffee. She was already starting to picture what he looked like: probably someone tall, with a kind smile, maybe dark hair— though she’d happily settle for a nice guy who didn’t ghost her mid-conversation. It didn’t hurt that he was witty, too. She took a deep breath, deciding to throw in a curveball.

> Pepper: Alright, Captain Marvel. Your turn. What’s something weird about you?

After a pause, a new message popped up.

> Captain Marvel: Let’s see… I absolutely hate olives. I feel like they’re out to get me.

> Pepper: LOL, are you serious? The olives are out to get you?

> Captain Marvel: I’m not saying I believe in vegetable conspiracies… but I’m definitely suspicious.

Their conversation flowed effortlessly, dipping into random topics about foods they loved and hated, shows they were binge-watching, and childhood dreams. It was surprising how comfortable they both felt sharing these trivial details. By the time noon rolled around, Emma had texted more than she usually did in an entire week.

> Captain Marvel: So, Pepper… this has been fun. Are we keeping this “therapy” arrangement going, or am I back to anonymous stranger status after today?

Emma hesitated, her thumb hovering over the screen. She could easily let this playful exchange stay a one-time thing, but there was something disarming about Captain Marvel. Talking to him felt safe, fun, and thrillingly different from her usual dating disasters.

> Pepper: Only if you’re willing to share more of those fascinating facts about your culinary fears.

> Captain Marvel: Deal. But if we’re doing this, let’s make it official. No real names, no personal details. Just Pepper and Captain Marvel. You in?

Emma grinned. She liked the idea of preserving their mystery, keeping things light and easy. No stakes, no drama—just two anonymous friends who could joke around and maybe share a few secrets along the way.

> Pepper: Deal. Pepper and Captain Marvel, just two random people with tragic taste in food.

> Captain Marvel: Speak for yourself! You’re the one who can’t keep a plant alive.

Emma set her phone down, feeling a strange thrill she hadn’t felt in a long time. For the first time Since her breakup, she was actually looking forward to something. It didn’t make sense, and it probably wouldn’t lead to anything, but for now, that was perfectly okay.

And across town, Liam sat on his own couch, grinning like a kid. He didn’t know where this little game was going, but he was more than happy to keep playing.