The notification pinged while Miles was tuning his guitar, the metallic twang echoing in the empty flat.
Sam has started following you, it announced. The name showing on his screen piqued his curiosity. Miles once had a friend called Sam, who he hadn’t heard from in over ten years.
His folk rock band, 10 Thousand Miles, had exploded in popularity after their song, The Church, a bold anthem about breaking free from a religious cult, entered the UK top 50. Since then, Miles’ Instagram was flooded with new followers.
Girls liked boys in bands; everyone knew that. So why was Miles still single, even now his band was a minor sensation?
They had been practising since a young age in Miles’ cousin Gus’ garage. They drove Gus’ parents crazy before they could get a tune right, but when they did, boy did they get it right.
He’d travelled across the city for gigs and for girls, but every time, he managed to trip over his own feet.
Once, after a show, he’d crossed three bus lines to catch up with a girl he liked, only to drop his guitar case on her foot, spill his drink down his shirt, and rattle about string gauges instead of asking her out.
He’d been told he was a good kisser, but getting there was another story.
His bandmates would often joke and compare him to Ross Geller, flirting with the pizza delivery girl in that episode of Friends, when he started rambling about the smell of gas.
“Ha ha,” Miles would fake laugh, hating being the centre of those jokes, but knowing his friends weren’t wrong.
He looked at his phone one more time, a nerve-wracking feeling creeping up his spine. Was this just a coincidence, or was it his old friend, Sam?
He hadn’t thought about Catholic Church Camp in years.
Sam was 12. Miles was 10. Neither of them had wanted to be there, but they were too young to have a choice.
They didn’t want to follow a religion. But did they even know what that meant? Maybe they didn’t, and maybe that was exactly how they bonded.
For three weeks at camp, they were inseparable. Sam was talkative and funny, the extrovert to Miles’ introvert. Their friendship worked wonders like that, with Sam talking Miles’ ears off and Miles listening like she was the only sound in the world.
He remembered one night, sneaking out onto the damp grass behind the dorms to look at the stars. He almost told her then that she was his favourite person. But when Sam turned to him, grinning in the dark, his throat closed up. “Look! A shooting star!” he blurted instead, and she laughed, and that was enough.
Her friends teased her, and so did his friends.
“Sam and Miles sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G! First comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!”
Miles didn’t mind the comments, and it didn’t look as if Sam minded either. But the truth was, they had never kissed each other. In fact, back then, Miles had never been kissed at all.
Had Sam? He’d never asked.
Miles liked looking at her, and he had wanted to kiss her.
He had vivid memories of that summer, of watching her lips as she talked, almost without breathing between words, and of wanting to kiss them and stop her from talking. Not because he didn’t enjoy her monologues, but because he liked to imagine what her lips felt like, whether they tasted like strawberries.
He had never had a girl-friend before. Was Sam his girl-friend, or was she his girlfriend?
When Summer was over, they went back to their homes. They lived in different towns, and they didn’t have mobile phones, so they decided to become pen pals. They exchanged addresses, and they would write each other letters. Not love letters, no. Just letters. They told each other about school and their extracurricular activities, and they would say they missed each other and were looking forward to Church Camp next year.
But when next year came, Sam didn’t go to camp. When Miles asked her parents where she was, they said she was a teenager now and had her own mind, which he assumed meant she didn’t want to go to church camp because she didn’t want to be religious.
Apparently, she was more interested in spending the summer holidays at her grandma’s, indulging in sugar and Katy Perry.
Miles, now 11 years old, wished he were 13, too. He wished he didn’t have to go to camp because the only good thing about camp was Sam, but Sam wasn’t there.
When he returned home that year, he wrote her a letter. He didn’t send it, though. After rereading it for the third time, he decided it was pointless. If Sam still wanted to be his friend, she would have gone to camp, or at least she would have written him a letter letting him know she wouldn’t be there. But she did neither of those things, and for Miles, that meant they weren’t friends anymore.
Miles didn’t want to have his expectations high, but when he clicked on the notification, he recognised her. The dimples didn’t lie.
She was stunning. Long, wavy blond hair, green eyes, and that same smile.
He followed her back and messaged straight away.
“Hello, stranger! Fancy seeing you here!”
Talking to someone online was a little easier than face-to-face.
“Miles! I can’t believe I found you.”
He smiled.
He thought for a second too long about what to say next. Typing dots kept appearing on his screen.
“I heard your song—the Church. I didn’t know it was you the first time I heard it, but at the same time, I think I did? I can’t explain. Obviously, your voice has changed a lot since the last time I saw you. Anyway, there I was, listening to that captivating song, when something clicked. I thought about you and Church Camp, and how we never saw each other again, and how I would love to catch up and hear your stories. Would you be up for that, do you think? I know you’re probably wondering why on Earth you should give me minutes of your precious time, but there’s no harm in asking, so here I am.”
Miles took a long breath. Rereading her message, he felt the old rush, how his heart used to thud painfully whenever she grinned at him across the campfire. She talked so fast he couldn’t keep up, and he’d always wished for a pause button. Now, with her messages, he had that luxury he lacked in person, but the nerves were the same.
He started typing his reply, but Sam was already on it, well ahead of him.
“Where are you living these days? Do you remember how I loved acting? I went to the RSC. I really did!”
Miles couldn’t manage a word in without feeling he would be interrupting her.
Was she joking? The Royal Conservatoire of Scotland was one of the world’s top performing arts institutions.
As if she could read his thoughts, she sent him another message.
“I’m not kidding! It was the best experience of my life, Miles. You wouldn’t believe it! Can you believe it? Look at us, huh? Who would have thought? The two awkward, acne-prone faces from Church Camp, of all places, are now artists, and good ones at that. I’m not being very modest here, am I? But I’m great at what I do, Miles. You should see me perform sometime. And I heard your song. You’re unbelievable!”
Miles was laughing now.
His friend, who had disappeared for over ten years, was back in full force.
There was so much he wanted to ask, but she would not stop typing.
He wanted to know where she’d been, why she’d never written him a final letter, and whether she was seeing someone. She had to, right? She was gorgeous and, apparently, very talented too.
Although those questions had felt important, Miles knew they could wait.
Sam was back.
He didn’t want to do this messaging thing anymore, though. If he weren’t able to speak, only to listen, he might as well be looking at Sam’s beautiful face instead of her Instagram profile picture.
He watched the dots as Sam kept typing, but for the first time, he decided he wouldn’t overthink it. He remembered all the times he’d let moments slip by, and suddenly he wanted to be different.
He would start by interrupting her, something he’d never dared before.
“Hey Sam, did you want to grab dinner sometime?”