Retired Tennis Star’s 3AM Text Leaves Luna Lin Shaken and Speechless

Luna Lin’s Sleepless Night

The marble floor was cold, and her bare toes curled against it with every step.
Luna Lin’s silk pajama sleeves slipped down her arms as she paced from one end of the living room to the other. The city glittered below her penthouse windows — indifferent, almost mocking. She held the pregnancy test in her hand like it was an unexploded grenade.

Three in the morning, and her phone wouldn’t stop buzzing. Same name, over and over: Miles Tan. The retired tennis star who swore he’d “never go back to that kind of drama.” And yet here they were.

She swiped the latest message open.

“We need to talk. Please don’t do anything stupid.”

She laughed — not the funny kind of laugh, but the brittle one that sounded like it could shatter into tears any second. “Oh, now you want to talk?” she muttered, throwing herself onto the leather couch.

The Texts No One Wants at 3AM

The first text had come ten minutes earlier: “Are you awake?”
Of course she was awake. Who sleeps after seeing two pink lines?

Luna had been careful — careful in the way people tell themselves they are. But Miles was charming, persistent, and a little reckless. He’d shown up at her birthday party two months ago with that crooked smile, and she’d let herself believe it was fine, that she could keep things light.

Her phone buzzed again.

“I can come over. I’ll take the elevator straight up. Don’t lock the door.”

She stared at it. The idea of seeing him now made her stomach twist. Not because she hated him — not yet — but because she didn’t trust her own voice to come out steady. She set the phone face-down on the coffee table and leaned back, closing her eyes.

But then came another buzz.

“I’m downstairs.”

She opened her eyes, exhaled sharply, and whispered to no one, “Of course you are.”

The Conversation They Never Wanted to Have

When the elevator chimed, she stayed in her spot on the couch. Miles stepped in quietly, his baseball cap pulled low, the hood of his sweatshirt up. He looked like a man sneaking into his own crime scene.

“Luna,” he said softly, standing a few feet away like the marble floor between them was a minefield.
She didn’t answer, just picked up the pregnancy test from the coffee table and held it up like evidence.

His jaw tensed. “Okay… so it’s real.”

“It’s real,” she said, her voice flat. “And you’re here to… what? Make a speech? Offer me a check?”

He winced. “That’s not fair.”

“No, what’s not fair,” she said, leaning forward, “is you walking into my life, making me think we’re just having fun, and now—” She cut herself off, her throat tightening.

He took a step closer. “Luna, I’m not running. I just… I don’t know how to handle this.”

She almost laughed again, but it came out as a sigh. “Neither do I, Miles. I’m not some fan in the front row anymore. I’m thirty-four. My life’s already complicated.”

He nodded, glancing at the test in her hand. “We’ll figure it out. If you want to… you know…”

Her eyes narrowed. “Finish that sentence carefully.”

“…keep it,” he said. “If you want to keep it, I’ll be here.”

Something in her chest eased, but she didn’t let him see it. Instead, she got up, padded to the kitchen, and poured herself a glass of water. Her hands still trembled.

The Longest Morning

By the time the sky started to turn from black to a faint purple, they were still in the living room. Miles had taken the armchair, slouched low, staring at the floor. Luna sat cross-legged on the couch, pulling the silk robe tighter around her.

They’d gone through all the big questions — the money, the press, the fact that his retirement wasn’t as “retired” as people thought. But the small questions hurt more.

“What about my work?” she’d asked at one point, almost to herself. “What about the scripts I’m supposed to shoot? What about going to Tokyo next month?”

He didn’t have an answer for those. And she didn’t expect one.

When the first beam of sunlight cut across the marble floor, she stood and stretched. “You should go,” she said quietly. “If the paparazzi get a shot of you leaving my building this early, the internet will explode before breakfast.”

He hesitated, then stood too. “Can I call you later?”

She shrugged, already walking toward the door. “You can try.”

At the door, he paused, looking like he wanted to say something else, but instead just nodded and stepped into the hallway.

When she locked the door behind him, she leaned her forehead against it and took a long, shaky breath. The city was fully awake now, horns blaring in the distance, sirens wailing somewhere down the avenue.

She wasn’t sure what she wanted — from him, from herself, from the tiny question mark growing inside her. But she knew one thing: the night had ended, and the morning wasn’t giving her any easy answers.