Last night felt like old times—
         talking past midnight,
         words spilling softly,
                    everything…
                       nothing…
          carefully in between.

Maybe we planned
      a comedy show,
      an evening of laughs
      waiting quietly for Thursday,

      whispers not yet ready for the Universe to hear.

We left the details
   intentionally vague—
   wary of tempting fate,
   side-eying the stars,

   silently daring tomorrow to blink first.

“Shh”, (we thought)
       a superstitious smirk
       shared across miles.

Let’s not jinx it.

Let’s not push fate.

But Thursday lingers,
    quiet and hopeful,
    written faintly
    in pencil—

    erasable,
    changeable,
    still gently promising.

I won’t say it out loud, Mari.

I’ll just smile—
     cautiously,
        quietly,

        and wait for Thursday to speak for itself.