Vanity.

Based on a fiction story, of course.

Her cell phone started to ring in the middle of the night - it could be some time after 0200. She didn't know he'd been up to call her, so at the first moment, she was a lil' bit confused. She was staring at the number, desperately trying to realize who's that. Eventually she gave up and answered the call.
'Yup?' the attempt not to sound sleepy wasn't successful.
But it was the voice she'd dreamt of. Comfortably low, slowly articulating, well-spoken.
Two hours later, headphones were still in her ears, she was lying by the side, eyes closed, just concentrating on the person she was speaking to. Awakened like at noon.
Two days later, eyes closed, focusing her attention on the noise of cars driving outside, she was lying by him. But not the one who called her. And she wondered if she wasn't simply dreaming and it would be an elegant explanation why everything seemed so perfect that night.
She could get up and he didn't notice, 'cause he's been sleeping for a few hours already. Maybe he didn't feel any need to ask her why she's so sad. Maybe 'cause boys usually don't care.
Go and look out of the window, now. The cold wind blowing, no stars in the sky. But it's still not raining.

And suddenly there's no reason to stay there, to see him yet in the morning.