It's strange how someone can become part of your thoughts without even trying.
A face, a voice, a memory that doesn't know when to leave.
After that night—the Code Blue, the almost-touch, the way his voice softened before he walked away. I told myself it was nothing. Just adrenaline. Just a moment that didn't mean anything.
But lies are easy to tell. Hard to believe.
The hospital carried on as if nothing had happened. The same white walls, the same hum of machines, the same faces that blurred together with every shift. Yet something in me had changed. I noticed him more now, even when I tried not to.
Dr. Maet was still the same focused, calm, impossible to read. He'd pass me in the hallway, eyes fixed ahead, voice steady when he gave instructions. Professional. Distant. Like that night on the rooftop never existed.
But every now and then, I'd catch him glancing my way. Just for a second. Just enough to make my chest tighten all over again.
So, I did what any sane person would do. I avoided him.
I switched shifts. I volunteered for different wards. I buried myself in paperwork and pretended that exhaustion was the reason I couldn't sleep. When friends asked if I was okay, I smiled and said I was fine.
I wasn't.
A week later, I finally took a day off. My sister dragged me to lunch with a few of her friends. The café was bright, full of laughter and sunlight, the complete opposite of the hospital. I wanted it to feel like a break, like a reset, but even there, I couldn't stop thinking about him.
They were talking about relationships. One of her friends was showing off her engagement ring, all sparkle and excitement. I smiled when I was supposed to, laughed at the right times, but part of me was somewhere else.
I could still hear his voice. "You don't have to hide everything."
"Grace," my sister said suddenly, snapping me out of it. "You look like you're daydreaming."
"I'm just tired," I lied again, stirring my juice like it had secrets too.
She gave me that look, half knowing, half worried but didn't push.
After lunch, we walked through the market. The smell of roasted corn and perfume filled the air. I bought flowers, for no reason, maybe just to remind myself that life had colors outside white and blue.
By the time I got home, the sun was setting. I took a long shower and tried to wash the thoughts away. But when I closed my eyes, I saw him again.
The way his jaw clenched when he was thinking. The way he said my name once, low and quiet, when I dropped a tray in the ward.
You can't forget someone who never really leaves.
Days turned into weeks.
One evening, I stayed after my shift to help in the emergency department. The place was chaos—sirens, stretchers, voices overlapping. I was focused, or at least trying to be, when I heard his voice again.
"Prep the trauma bay!"
I turned. There he was.
Same calm energy, same dark eyes. It hit me all over again, like time hadn't passed at all.
I kept my head down, did my job, avoided looking at him directly. When our hands brushed over a tray of instruments, I flinched slightly. He didn't move. Didn't say a word. Just that one brief pause, and then he went back to work.
But after the patient stabilized and everyone started cleaning up, he spoke quietly beside me.
"You've been avoiding me."
I froze. "No, I haven't."
He gave a small, unreadable smile. "You're a terrible liar."
I opened my mouth, then closed it again. "We're colleagues. I don't see the point of…"
He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice. "Of pretending?"
My throat went dry. "Of complicating things."
He looked at me for a long second, eyes searching mine. Then he nodded slowly. "You're right."
It should have felt like relief but It didn't.
That night, I couldn't sleep. I sat by the window with a cup of tea, watching the rain fall, trying to make sense of what I was feeling.
I wanted peace, but my heart was restless. Every time I thought I was over him, something small would pull me back—a memory, a word, a look. It was like trying to heal a wound that kept reopening.
My phone buzzed. A message from my friend, Lillian:
"Girl, we're meeting for dinner tomorrow. No excuses."
I smiled. Maybe that's what I needed. People. Laughter. Distance from everything that felt too heavy.
Dinner with my friends was loud and full of life. We talked about random things—work stress, silly patients, dating disasters. I almost forgot about him. Almost.
Until one of them mentioned the hospital.
"Have you seen that new doctor? What's his name… Dr. Maet C… something?"
My fork froze halfway to my mouth.
Lillian grinned. "The tall one with the serious face. He's fine!"
They laughed, teasing each other, throwing comments around. I forced a smile, but my pulse was already quickening.
Fine? He was more than that. He was trouble wrapped in calm. A storm in a lab coat.
"Grace?" Lillian nudged me. "You've gone quiet."
"Just thinking," I said, sipping my drink to hide the heat in my cheeks.
When I got home, I told myself it didn't matter. What were the chances I'd run into him again outside work anyway?
—
The next afternoon proved me wrong.
I was walking down the street near the hospital, holding a bag of groceries, when I heard someone call my name.
I turned—and there he was, standing by his car, coat draped over his arm, the faintest smile on his lips.
"Grace," he said, like my name was something he'd been keeping.
My heart skipped. "Doctor."
He raised an eyebrow. "Doctor?"
I laughed softly. "its a habit."
There was a pause, the kind that says everything words can't.
He glanced at the bag in my hand. "You live around here?"
"Yeah. Just a few blocks away."
He nodded. "Small world."
I wanted to say something else, something casual, but my mind went blank. So I just smiled awkwardly and said, "Well, I should go. My milk's probably getting warm."
He chuckled. "Right. Wouldn't want that."
As I turned to leave, he called out, "Grace?"
I looked back.
His eyes softened. "Take care of yourself."
Simple words, but they lingered long after I walked away.
For the next few days, I tried to focus on work. Tried to forget how his voice sounded when he said my name. Tried to act like it didn't matter.
But life has a way of testing you when you think you're getting better.
It was a late shift again. The hospital was quiet, almost too quiet. I was walking past the on-call room when I heard his voice inside… low, tired, talking to someone on the phone.
I didn't mean to listen, but his tone stopped me.
"I'm fine," he was saying. "Just… not sleeping much. No, it's nothing. I'm handling it."
Something in his voice cracked slightly, and I realized he sounded human—fragile, even. It was strange hearing that from someone who always seemed untouchable.
I stepped back quickly before he could see me, but as I turned the corner, the door opened.
"Grace?"
His voice again.
I froze. Slowly, I turned around. He looked exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, hair a little messy, shirt untucked.
"You were listening?" he asked softly, no anger, just curiosity.
"I was passing by," I said quietly.
He studied me for a long moment. Then he nodded, stepping aside to let me pass.
"Goodnight," he said, but there was something in his tone—something final.
I walked away, trying to breathe, trying to convince myself it was for the best.
But then, halfway down the hall, I heard my name again.
"Grace."
I turned.
He was standing there, hand against the doorframe, watching me. His expression unreadable, like he was fighting something inside himself.
For a second, neither of us spoke. The distance between us felt heavier than ever.
Then he said quietly, "Stop running from me."
And that was it.
The sentence that froze the hallway, the air, my heart.
I didn't know what hurt more… the fact that he noticed I was running, or that part of me didn't want to stop.