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The first thing my friend Paul says after he picks up after four dial tones is “is everything OK?”

Everything is OK. I was just calling for a chat.

Many of us don’t make social calls any more, even those who grew up so obsessed with the home phone that we spent hours with a warm ear nestled into the receiver.

But after years of hearing the same startled response whenever I rang someone, I got the message – texts were preferred. Texts , then DMs, Instagram reels sent back and forth, WhatsApp groups and voice notes became the tools of choice in my friendships.

The more communication channels available to us, the more particular we can be with how we prefer to be contacted. It’s hard to remember it all, that Friend A prefers texts to voice notes, while Friend B loves voice notes but won’t answer a phone call. Friend C communicates entirely in reels. Friend D enjoys a phone chat but will rarely respond to texts. Friend E and I communicate mainly through email like we’re pen pals, even though he only lives 30 minutes away.

Personally, if you want to incur my wrath, add me to yet another WhatsApp group I’ll feel obliged to actively engage in.

While I cherish voice notes from friends and listen to them like podcasts, lately I’ve been craving the immediacy of a phone call – the back and forth in real time, the spontaneity, the unfiltered rawness.

Recently, while interviewing Kirk Docker, the documentary maker behind You Can’t Ask That – a show built on asking people questions many of us would never dare ask – our conversation turned to the phone.

“Why don’t we call people any more?” he wondered. I couldn’t remember the last time a friend had rung simply to chat. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d done that either.

So I scrolled through my phone contacts and started dialing. Beginning with A, the first person I called was my friend Adrian, who I’ve known for about a decade but rarely chat with. There’s a slight questioning lilt in his voice when he answers, though he’s too polite to ask why I’m calling. Within minutes we’re chatting as though no time had passed.

As I called more and more friends, I noticed an age divide. My gen X friends and relatives either answered or called straight back, unfazed by the unexpected ring. About half of my fellow millennials picked up, but always with a note of curiosity or concern.

Kate is also slightly alarmed to get my call, as we usually text. Once we’ve established everything is fine, good, great, we settle into a chat about parenting, our own parents and roast chicken. Kate says her dad once sent her a text that read “please call me IMMEDIATELY” and, panicked, she did. “I’m in the supermarket and need to know what type of roast chicken you want for dinner,” he said.

As I call my friends, I hear about new jobs, weekend plans, gigs, exhibitions, baby sleep schedules.

Some calls are harder to make, and others leave me shaken. One friend is having family issues – she hinted to them via messages, but I didn’t grasp the severity until she’s sobbing over the phone. I listen, trying to hold back my annoying tendency to give advice and just listen. “I feel like I’m not being very helpful,” I apologise towards the end of the call. “You’re being a friend,” she replies.

I phone another friend who I also knew was having a hard time, but it’s only while we’re chatting that he lays it all out – the work incident that sent him spiralling, the time spent in a psychiatric ward. “I’m so sorry, I had no idea,” I tell him, and remind him that he can call me if he needs to, or if he just wants a chat.

So much can remain hidden when our friendships are maintained through reels, typed messages or curated voice notes, I realise.

It’s hard to know if someone is struggling when you can’t hear their voice. Even with voice notes, there’s the ability to hit record, pause, start over, edit the messiness out – that crack in your voice, the rehearsed enthusiasm, the weariness.

There’s a sense of performance that is harder to emulate on a longer phone call, especially on a spontaneous call which can catch you off-guard.

The next time my phone rings unexpectedly, perhaps I too will assume something is wrong. But maybe everything is also fine – maybe someone just wants to talk.

• Samantha Allemann is a freelance writer based in Melbourne/Naarm