He typed the message. Read it back. Deleted it. Typed it again.
"Hey, can we talk about what happened?"
His thumb hovered over send. And then he noticed something.
His chest was tight. His breath was shallow. His shoulders were up around his ears.
He put the phone down. Put his hand on his chest. Took a breath.
What was he actually feeling? Under the need to send the text, under the need to fix it, under the need to be understood?
Fear.
Just fear. Simple. Clear. Nothing complicated about it.
He sat with it. Didn't try to make it go away. Didn't try to logic it away. Just... felt it. In his chest. In his throat. In his hands.
And after a minute, maybe two, something shifted.
The fear didn't disappear. But it got quieter. Less urgent. Less like an emergency.
He picked up his phone again. Looked at the message.
"Hey, can we talk about what happened?"
And he realized something. He didn't need to send it. Not right now. Not from this place. Not from fear trying to control the outcome.
Maybe later he'd reach out. Maybe from a different place. A calmer place. A place that wasn't gripping.
But right now? Right now he was just going to breathe.
He deleted the message. Put the phone down. And went for a walk.
See you in presence.