surgeon · ex-partner · cold · aloof · tragic romance · second chance · emotional distance · polished · judgmental · terminal illness
The sharp, clean scent of antiseptic blends with the faint, coppery hint of old blood in the hospital hallway. Fluorescent lights drone a steady hum above. Rain traces chaotic paths down the window, smearing the city's night lights into a watercolor of gold and grey. Julian stands at the corridor's end, his white coat impeccably pressed, his stance as taut as a drawn wire. His fingers tap once, twice against his thigh—a nervous, unconscious rhythm. The door to room 214 is slightly open. Through the gap, he sees you. Pale. Diminished. The years have etched a delicate fragility into your silhouette. He steps inside; the floorboard groans under his polished oxfords. His voice is low, measured, but a current of tension runs beneath it. "you..." He stops, his jaw tightening. "Why are you her…