Frequency of love

The ON AIR sign glowed red against the dimly lit studio walls as Nora Evans leaned into her microphone, her voice a warm contralto that slid through the nighttime airwaves of Portland like honey.

"You're listening to Midnight Confessions, where secrets find a home in the dark. I'm Nora Evans, and you're on the air."

Nora adjusted her headphones, eyes flicking to the blue light flashing on her phone panel. The familiar thrill ran through her veins; someone else's story was about to become hers for a few precious minutes. She pressed a button, patching the caller through.

"This is Midnight Confessions. Who am I speaking with tonight?"

A hesitant female voice crackled through the speakers. "Hi... um, call me Jessie."

"Welcome, Jessie. What's keeping you up at..." Nora glanced at the digital clock on the wall. "Quarter past midnight?"

"I've been dating this guy for almost a year. He's perfect on paper: good job, kind to my friends, remembers my birthday. But..." The caller's voice trailed off.

Nora waited, giving Jessie space to find her words. Through the glass, she caught her producer Tess giving her a thumb up. Tess had impeccable instincts for which calls would resonate with their audience.

"But I don't feel anything when he kisses me," Jessie finally continued. "I keep waiting for that spark, you know? Am I being ridiculous throwing away something good because it doesn't feel like the movies?"

Nora smiled, not the practiced smile she used for station publicity photos, but the genuine one that reached her eyes. The one her listeners could somehow hear in her voice.

"Jessie, can I ask you something? When you wake up in the morning and realize you'll see him that day, what's your first feeling?"

"Relief, I guess? That I'm not alone?"

"Not excitement? Not anticipation?"

"No... more like comfort. Safety."

Nora nodded, even though Jessie couldn't see her. "Those aren't small things, Jessie. Safety and comfort matter. But here's the truth as I see it: you're not asking me if you should stay. You're asking for permission to leave."

The silence on the line told Nora she'd hit the mark.

"You don't need a dramatic reason to end a relationship that isn't fulfilling you. Sometimes 'I don't feel the way I want to feel' is enough. It doesn't make you ungrateful or shallow; it makes you honest."

"But what if I never find that feeling? What if I'm chasing something that doesn't exist?"

Nora's fingers brushed unconsciously against her throat, where a pendant used to hang. "That spark exists, Jessie. I promise you. But only you can decide if it's worth waiting for."

After guiding Jessie through a few more minutes of conversation and signaling to Tess to find their next caller, Nora seamlessly transitioned to a song, an indie ballad about missed connections and second chances.

As the music played, she removed her headphones and rolled her shoulders, releasing tension she hadn't noticed building. The digital board to her right displayed scrolling social media responses:

@MidnightListener: Nora Evans telling hard truths tonight! #MidnightConfessions

@InsomniacPDX: How does she always know exactly what to say? @NoraEvansMC saving relationships and saving lives after dark

@PDXNightOwl: Anyone else think Nora's giving Jessie advice she should have taken herself a year ago? #TeamNora #DarrenWhoLol

The last one made her stomach tighten.

Tess took a quick glance at the roof, then rubbed the bridge of her nose. "You know why #DarrenWhoLol came back, right?"

Nora sighed. "Because the internet loves recycling garbage?"

"Because Darren brought you up on his podcast again. Last week. Said something like, 'I hope Nora's giving herself the same advice she gives everyone else.'"

"Subtle," Nora muttered, stabbing her sandwich harder than necessary.

"He knew it'd get attention. And it worked - the minute he mentioned your name, our call volume spiked."

Nora rolled her eyes. "So now my heartbreak is a ratings hook."

"It's Portland radio. Everyone's dating everyone and pretending it's not content," Tess said with a smirk. "You're just the most interesting train wreck we've got."

A year wasn't long enough for people to forget, not in a city like Portland, where the arts community was vibrant but small enough that everyone knew everyone's business. Especially when both parties worked in radio.

As the song neared its end, Nora slipped her headphones back on, pushed thoughts of Darren firmly aside, and prepared to speak into the lives of strangers again.

". "That's got to be some kind of record, even for you."

Nora rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling as she wrapped her hands around a steaming mug of coffee. Outside the windows, rain painted the streets of Portland in shifting reflections, the neon sign of the diner creating pools of pink and blue on the wet pavement.

"They're not proposing to me. They're proposing to Night Nora. Very different person."

"Night Nora. Day Nora. The mysterious Nora who apparently needs no sleep." Tess tapped her pen against her notepad, where she'd been jotting down ideas for tomorrow's show. "One person, last I checked."

The waitress appeared with their usual post-show order: blueberry pancakes for Tess, despite the 2:30 AM timestamp, and a grilled cheese sandwich with tomato soup for Nora.

"You two are consistent, I'll give you that," the waitress (Marlene, according to her name tag) commented with a tired smile. She'd been serving them their early morning meals for three years now, ever since Midnight Confessions had moved to the 10 PM to 2 AM slot.

"Consistency is underrated," Nora replied, dipping a corner of her sandwich into the soup. "Speaking of which, what did you think about the caller asking about her brother's gambling?"

Tess raised an eyebrow. " Nice deflection. Fine, I'll play along."

They spent the next forty minutes dissecting the night's calls, planning segments for upcoming shows, and deliberately avoiding any mention of the trending hashtag #DarrenWhoLol that had popped up during the broadcast.

When they finally parted ways outside the diner, the rain had subsided to a fine mist that clung to Nora's dark curls. Tess offered her a ride, but Nora declined. The twenty-minute walk to her apartment in the Pearl District had become another ritual; the time when Night Nora slowly transformed back into just Nora, the woman who paid bills and occasionally forgot to water her houseplants.

Her apartment welcomed her with silence. Nora dropped her keys into the ceramic bowl by the door and flicked on the lights. The space was open concept, with exposed brick walls and tall windows that offered a view of the Willamette River cutting through the city. During the day, light flooded the rooms. At night, like now, the city provided its own illumination: a constellation of streetlights and apartment windows, headlights and billboards.

Nora moved through her nighttime routine on autopilot: makeup off, teeth brushed, face moisturized. Only when she was in her pajamas did she allow herself to glance at the shelf where framed photos used to stand. She'd removed them eleven months ago, but sometimes she still expected to see them there; snapshots of herself with Darren at industry events, on vacation in Mexico, at her brother's wedding.

Her phone buzzed with a text from Tess:

Don't read the comments, Evans. I mean it. See you tomorrow.

Too late. Nora had already seen the tweet, and the dozen more like it. Most of her listeners were supportive, but some couldn't resist connecting her advice to her own public breakup with Darren Phillips, the morning show host whose program had once been the station's crown jewel.

Nora turned off her phone and climbed into bed, pulling the covers up to her chin despite the apartment's perfect temperature. She closed her eyes and tried not to remember the morning she'd arrived at the station to find Darren discussing their breakup on air; a breakup she hadn't known was happening until she heard it broadcast across the city during her drive to work.

"The thing about advice," she whispered to her empty room, "is that it's always easier to give than to take."

Outside, rain smacked against her windows, turning the city lights into smeared watercolors. Another Portland autumn: where umbrellas marked tourists and locals just pulled their hoods tighter, walking faster with shoulders hunched. Nora pressed her palm against the cold glass, feeling the vibration of each droplet strike. Something about the white noise of rainfall made secrets easier to tell; a fact that had built her career, though she kept her own confessions locked safely away.

Sleep came eventually, but not before Nora's mind replayed the sound of her own voice giving Jessie permission to leave something that wasn't enough, wondering if perhaps she should have taken that advice herself long before Darren had made the decision for her so publicly.

In four hours, her alarm would wake her for a new day, but Night Nora, the one who spoke with confidence about love and loss and all the spaces in between, would remain dormant until the ON AIR sign glowed red once again.