What should I reply? What more can I say? I think my message was clear enough. If he’s not suggesting anything, it’s because he doesn’t want to for whatever reason.

The fire is almost gone now. I’m getting up.

And my phone beeps again.

Give me a number, he says.

Now? He wants a number now? I don’t want to play anymore. Maybe it’s all a game to him, and perhaps it should’ve been for me too, but that bus—ha!—had left the station hours ago.

I sigh, and despite myself, I text: 49.

The question is: Would you ever consider meeting me in person? he texts.

I don’t think I’ve ever felt what I’m feeling reading these words. A mix of disbelief with excitement, joy, nerves, happiness. Is it happiness? Must be. Then I’m starting to doubt everything as usual.

Was that really the question at number 49?

No.

I chuckle, my hands still shaking, holding the phone.

And when I say ‘ever’, I mean today. Just so that’s clear. If you’re not too tired and can make it a little longer, the sunrise on Carmel Beach is a once-in-a-lifetime sight. It’s at six. I would love to… if the answer is yes, meet you there. There are some large rocks—you can’t miss them—and right next to them, an old bench.

I read and can’t help letting out a gasp. My hands are shaking even harder now, and I have a massive pit in my stomach. This is all so new to me—this feeling. And I can’t stand still, but I have to calm down and think.

I walk toward the ocean. In the darkness, the waves swoosh and a shadow moves in front of me. I immediately turn around and go the opposite way, to the beach’s edge and the lights. Once there, I sit on the low concrete wall and start typing. It might be the craziest thing I’ve ever done, but I’d hate myself if I didn’t take a chance on this. On me. On him. On this day.

Sorry it took me a while to answer. I’ve just been thinking. I don’t usually do this; I want you to know that. But there’s something about today that’s different. I guess this is my complicated way of saying yes. I’d love to spend the last hour of my birthday watching the sunrise… with you. I’ll be there at six.

Technically not my birthday anymore, but… still part of the amazing twenty-four-hour birthday adventure, so I’ll take it. I guess any excuse to see him, meet him, is acceptable.

I press send.

And then immediately add: Do you want to know what my question #50 was?

Twelve

I open my eyes and realize I am lying on the beach. The last thing I remember is sending the text, then sitting in the sand, waiting for him to reply, but he never did. That must’ve been hours ago. Did I fall asleep here? Great, my first night of being homeless. My backpack is still next to me, so at least I didn’t get robbed. When I try to get up, something falls in the sand. It’s a dark-colored hoodie and definitely not mine. It’s too big and too… gray for me to ever wear anything like this. Someone must’ve put it over me while I was sleeping. A shiver passes through my body at the thought that people saw me like this and took pity on me.