The first time Ethan Cole saw her name again, he thought it was a mistake.
The email flashed on his screen, subject line: Parkland Memorial Integration Team Final Roster. He skimmed through the list, half-focused and nursing a cup of coffee that had long gone cold. Then his eyes halted on a familiar name.
Dr. Stephanie Hart.
The cup slipped from his fingers, sending coffee splattering across his desk. For a heartbeat, he simply stared, his chest tightening as if time itself had come to a standstill.
Seven years. Seven long years since she had walked out of his apartment with tears streaming down her face and silence trailing behind her. Seven years since he had convinced himself it didn't matter, that work was all-consuming, that heartbreak was just another problem to solve.
But her name still stung like a fresh wound.
He leaned back in his chair, the glow of his monitor casting a blue hue over his weary eyes. Outside the window, Dallas sparkled under the hazy evening sky, skyscrapers flickering like static. Somewhere out there, she was alive. And tomorrow, he will see her again.
Stephanie Hart had always despised giving presentations.
She could handle chaos, fractured bones, blood, and frantic patients but standing in front of a room full of executives made her palms sweat. Nevertheless, she had agreed to lead this meeting. The hospital's technological overhaul was long overdue, and she was determined to prevent another inefficient system from endangering patients.
As she flipped through the briefing slides, she was only half-listening to the rain tapping against the window. It had been falling all day, that persistent kind of rain that made the world feel contemplative.
Her phone buzzed with a reminder: System Review with Cole Technologies, 9:00 a.m.
Cole Technologies.
Her hand froze mid-page.
She hadn't connected the dots before, the proposal's name, the familiar tug she felt when she read it. But now, it clicked.
Ethan Cole.
Her Ethan.
Her breath caught in her throat. For a fleeting moment, the hospital office blurred, overtaken by the memory of his apartment balcony, the city lights twinkling below, his voice reassuring her with, "We'll figure it out, Steph," and her responding, "No, Ethan, you already did."
She closed her laptop. The rain outside continued to pour.
Morning arrived in dull shades of gray.
Ethan adjusted his tie in the hospital elevator, the mirrored walls reflecting the anxiety he was determined to hide. The faint scent of antiseptic mingled with coffee and damp suits. He despised hospitals. Too sterile. Too filled with the tragedies of others.
When the elevator doors chimed open, he stepped into the fourth-floor corridor and froze.
She was there.
Stephanie stood at the end of the hall, her posture straight, hair neatly tied back, clipboard in hand. But her eyes, those soft, focused eyes hadn't changed at all.
She looked up, and the world tilted.
"Ethan." Her voice was calm, almost too calm.
He managed a nod. "Dr. Hart."
That earned him the slightest flicker of surprise. "Since when do you call me that?"
"Since it seemed safer."
Something passed between them, quiet, charged, and impossible to define.
"Let's get started," she said, turning toward the conference room. He followed, his pulse racing inexplicably.
The meeting was a blur of numbers and software diagrams, but Ethan's concentration shattered every time Stephanie spoke. She was poised, efficient, and precise. The same sharp mind he had fallen for, now shielded behind layers of professionalism.
He caught her glance once, just for a brief moment, but it was enough. There was history in her eyes, but no invitation.
When the discussion shifted to implementation schedules, she addressed him directly.
"Your system claims to reduce emergency response time by thirty percent. Can it handle real-world unpredictability?"
Her tone was professional, her words clipped but he could sense the underlying tension.
He met her gaze. "It can. I designed it to."
Her eyebrow arched. "You designed it?"
He nodded. "Personally."
A brief pause. Then a quiet, controlled, "Of course you did."
The rest of the room missed the subtext, but it was clear to them. The tension spoke volumes.
When the meeting concluded, people began to gather their things, chatter spilling into the hallway. Stephanie remained behind, organizing her notes. Ethan hesitated by the door.
"Steph"
"Don't," she said, not looking up. "Not here."
He stepped closer. "I just wanted to say it's good to see you."
She let out a soft but bitter laugh. "Is it?"
He didn't respond. There wasn't a correct answer.
Finally, she looked up, and for a brief moment, her calm facade cracked. Something resembling sorrow flickered in her eyes before she masked it once more.
"Seven years," she murmured. "Do you really think we can just… what? Pick up where we left off?"
"I don't know," he admitted. "But I didn't expect to see you again."
"Neither did I."
She brushed past him, leaving a lingering scent of jasmine and hospital soap in her wake.
He turned as she reached the door. "You still wear it," he said quietly.
She stopped.
The bracelet on her wrist, silver, engraved with the words "To us, no matter where we end up."
Her fingers brushed it absentmindedly. "It's just a piece of metal."
"Then why haven't you taken it off?"
She didn't respond. She simply walked out, leaving the door swinging behind her.
Ethan stood alone in the empty room, the hum of the projector fading into silence.
He should have felt relief, closure, perhaps. Instead, the ache that had haunted him for years surged back, sharper than ever.
He gathered his files and headed for the door. But as he reached the end of the hallway, something caught his eye.
Stephanie was standing by the emergency stairwell, phone pressed to her ear, her expression tense.
"No," she whispered urgently, pacing. "You can't be serious. Not now."
Ethan froze, hidden from view. Her tone was filled with urgency and fear.
She turned slightly, her voice dropping. "If anyone finds out, it's over. Do you understand me?"
The call ended abruptly. She stood still for a moment, her shoulders tense, before walking away.
Ethan lingered there, the weight of her words hanging heavily in the sterile air.
Something was wrong.
And whatever it was, it had nothing to do with the past.