Noelle was halfway down the corridor when she heard the footsteps.
Not rushed, not uncertain.
Measured, steady.
And familiar in a way that bypassed thought altogether, something she felt in her body before her mind could catch up.
She stopped.
The air around her seemed to still. Like even the hospital had paused. The distant hum of machinery, the muffled voices behind closed doors, all of it faded beneath the sudden pounding in her chest.
She didn't need to turn around.
She knew.
He was there.
Every part of her, the blood in her veins, the air in her lungs recognized him before her eyes did.
Then,
"Hey."
His voice.
Rough from disuse. Low and just a little hoarse, like it had clawed its way up from a dream.
Her fingers tightened around the edge of the cleaning cart. Her breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat.
Slowly, carefully, she turned.
And there he was.
Kairo Lancaster.
Standing only a few feet away, one hand resting against the doorframe of Room 308. He looked different. Not fragile, just unfinished. As if his body hadn't quite caught up to itself.
His long-sleeved hospital shirt was wrinkled from wear. The navy lounge pants hung slightly looser than they should. His stance was off-balance, like he was still learning how to carry his own weight again.
But his eyes,
God, his eyes.
Steel gray. Focused and Searching.
And they were on her. Locked in, like she wasn't just someone passing through, but something he was trying, needing to remember.
Her heart thundered.
His brow furrowed slightly as he tilted his head, gaze never breaking.
"Do I know you?"
It felt like something inside her splintered.
Not the way she'd feared. Not sharp and cruel, but soft, and aching.
Because his voice wasn't laced with dismissal or suspicion.
It was laced with hope.
Like he was reaching for something just out of view.
Noelle swallowed, forcing her features into something neutral. Something professional. Her lips curved into a small, polite smile, the kind you practiced in front of a mirror when you needed to hide everything else.
"I don't think so, sir," she said quietly. "We've never met."
The lie landed like a stone in her throat.
But it came out smooth. Practiced. As if she'd rehearsed it in her dreams.
Kairo didn't move. His eyes narrowed slightly.
He wasn't convinced.
He took a step closer.
"You sure?"
She nodded toward the cart. "Just part of maintenance," she said gently. "Cleaning rotation."
He glanced at the cart.
Then at her hands.
Then back up his gaze anchoring to her face and staying there.
And for a moment, everything suspended.
Something shifted in his eyes.
A flicker.
Recognition without memory.
As if some part of him, a part untouched by the trauma, untouched by the coma, knew.
Noelle's breath trembled. Her lips parted, just barely. A whisper, a name, something unsaid pressed against her teeth.
She wanted to tell him.
Who she was.
Who he was.
What they had been.
But she couldn't.
Because if he remembered her now, under pressure, it wouldn't be real. It wouldn't be his.
So instead, she did what broke her the most.
She smiled just enough.
She pushed the cart forward and said softly, "Have a good afternoon, sir."
Then she walked away.
Never looking back.
Kairo watched her until she disappeared around the corner.
He didn't understand the pressure in his chest. It wasn't pain. Wasn't fatigue.
It was something else.
Something deeper.
He leaned against the wall for a second, trying to breathe through it.
There was something in her voice.
Something in the way she looked at him, just before she looked away.
Like she already knew him.
And wasn't allowed to say so.
He pushed off the doorframe slowly and walked back into his room, legs heavier than they had been a minute ago. He sat on the bed, lowering himself carefully, the mattress groaning beneath him.
His fingers reached for the sketchpad.
He flipped to the page.
There she was.
Unfinished, half-drawn.
But her.
And with a quiet, almost reverent breath, he whispered:
"Noelle."