"Doc Jen, going home already?"
I smiled and nodded, "Yes, Tita Tes." Tita Tes patted me on the back.
"Good work today." She said as I took off my white lab coat, fixing my stethoscope on my backpack.
"Good work, oh, and please don't hesitate to call me when something happens to my patients. Thank you so much." I said before leaving the faculty, as all the nurses there said their goodbyes.
"Jen!" I heard someone called and I chuckled, "What is it, Faer?" I asked, crossing my arms as I leaned over the front desk.
"Doc Jen, Doc Faer was just telling us that he met a handsome guy on the way back here in the hospital." Our new graduate nurse, Maddy squeled.
"Exactly, he was so handsome, I almost forgot that we're having a code white in the ER." He sighed dreamily, staring off to a distance as if reminicing the past events.
I sighed, laughing. "You know, as a doctor, you can't say that." He glared at me, while Maddy just rolled her eyes.
"Doc Jen, you should stop being bitter already. You should date like Doc Faer, you know." She stated, smiling as she continued typing on her computer, probably documenting again.
I just laughed at the audacity of this kid.
"Exactly. Period." Faer cheered and high-fived with Maddy. And I chuckled, these two really are alike. Their audacity is on the next level.
"Please, you two should be working. I've already finished my shift, so I'll be going now." I bid my goodbyes, and finally, I got out of the hospital with a sigh of relief.
Finally, ending that 14-hour shift already made me die. How can I even stay there for 24/7 when we were short-staffed a year ago?
I had goosebumps even thinking about it.
"Thank you." I smiled at the tricycle driver as he stopped at the dark street, just a few blocks away from our subdivision.
Honestly, I just wanted to eat for goodness sake. But why are all the stores closed at this time?! And even the convenience store is closed due to repairs.
The alleyway was dim, illuminated only by tired streetlights casting long shadows on the pavement.
Yes, thank goodness someone's store is still open.
My smile immediately dropped as I saw a familiar sign.
Why the heck is this café still open past 11 pm?
"Is there really nothing else open?" I groaned, clutching my stomach as it growled in protest.
"I'll eat anything at this point." I'd been assigned to the general ward tonight, which only meant monitoring and reading lab results from patients 1 to 15.
Every kind of patient imaginable came flooding in. Flu cases. Trauma from motorcycle accidents. Walk-ins who swore they were dying.
On top of that, I'd been tasked with admitting two stroke patients who arrived at the same time, all while I was desperately trying to get hold of the on-call neurologist.
That wasn't even counting the lab results I had to chase down, the endless charting, or the toxic watchers who refused to wait and acted like the hospital revolved around them.
I couldn't even remember the last time I sat down.
Food? Completely forgotten.
At this rate, I was going to lose my mind long before I ever became an attending physician.
So maybe, just maybe, it was fate again that led my feet into that familiar café. And of course it had to be this café. The only one still open in our quiet, sleepy neighborhood.
Of course, it had to be his. Damn it.
"Good evening, sir."
There it was again. Sir.
Why did that annoy me so much?
And worse, why did a small, traitorous part of me want him to say, Noah again?
There he was, standing behind the counter in his dark apron, sleeves rolled neatly up to his elbows. With his usual calm demeanor, like nothing in the world ever rattled him.
But something in his eyes had changed.
It wasn't like 8 years ago, when it was blank and cold.
There was something else there. Something that glimmered faintly, like curiosity.
Like he was… curious about me.
I shook the thought away, maybe it was me again overanalyzing something.
"Good evening," I muttered, looking anywhere but at him.
He gave a faint smile, barely a quirk of his lips, then nodded toward the corner. "Your seat's ready."
I blinked. "Huh? I didn't ask for a seat… yet."
"You sat there the first day we opened, didn't you?" he asked quietly, almost thoughtfully.
Then I glanced at the seat. Ah...right. I did.
But I just sat there without thinking, because I'm still reeling from the shock of seeing him again after five years.
I nodded slowly, surprised he remembered.
He looked at the seat for a moment, then back at me. His gaze softened, like he was seeing more than just furniture.
"That's your seat now," he declared, yes, he straightforwardly said that without any hint of hesitation.
This guy, he didn't really change, huh.
I raised a brow. "And what makes you think I'd want to sit there again?" I asked, folding my arms in subtle defiance.
"What's wrong with observing where my dear customers like to sit?" he countered with a chuckle, wiping his hands with a cloth.
I bit my lip. What was I supposed to say? I was good at arguing, at debating. But every time he spoke, my mind went blank, as if my mouth forgot how words worked.
"So, what would you like to order?" he asked, his eyes locking onto mine.
"Oh—uh…" I glanced up at the menu above the counter.
"One creamy mushroom pasta," I said, pulling my wallet from my bag.
"No hot Matcha Latte?" he asked, eyebrow arching.
"Oh—yeah. I'll get that too. But iced," I added quickly, then froze.
He remembered that?
My mind flashed back to the first time I drank it hot and nearly burned my tongue off. I'd downed almost an entire gallon of cold water that day.
"Cash or card?" I handed him my card.
"No cash today, huh?" he commented lightly.
"Yeah, because my salary's late aga—"
Right on cue, my stomach growled. It was loud enough that even the imaginary customers in my head could probably hear it.
I clutched my stomach, my cheeks burning with embarrassment. He handed my card back, chuckling.
"I'll just serve the food." I nodded and dragged my feet to the corner seat, slumping into the chair like my bones had finally given up.
I sat there, fidgeting with my fingers as I ruffled my hair. Why the heck is he doing this to me again?
I sighed, placing my hand on my chest as I inhaled and exhaled. Phew, calm down, heart. I don't need palpitations now. I didn't know how long I've been doing it because before I knew it, he was walking towards me holding a tray.
"Here you go," he said, setting the tray down.
He placed the tray down on my table and placed the creamy mushroom pasta, perfectly plated, and an iced matcha latte on the side.
"Thanks." I picked up my fork, ready to inhale the food, when he suddenly sat across from me.
I paused and set the fork down. "Aren't you busy running this café all by yourself?" I asked.
He shook his head. "You're the only one who came this late." Then he added casually, "Besides, I have someone helping manage the café."
I stilled. Someone?
"A...girlfriend?" I asked, my fork frozen halfway to my mouth.
He shook his head. "A friend."
Something inside me loosened.
Why did I feel relieved?
"So, are you a nurse now?" he asked, eyes scanning me.
I looked down and realized I was still wearing a blue scrub suit. I almost choked. Of all the times I've met him, I'm wearing my freaking scrub suit?!
"Oh, no. A resident doctor, actually." He nodded, and I finally took a bite of the pasta.
My eyes widened. "Why?" he asked, catching my reaction.
"Is it good?" I straightened immediately.
"It's…o-okay," I muttered. Which was a lie.
It was ridiculously good. Creamy, balanced, perfectly cooked. I could've devoured the entire plate in one sitting without breathing.
"Then what kind of doctor are you?" he asked.
I swallowed, "I'm an Internal Medicine Resident," I replied, avoiding his gaze.
Before I could take another bite, he spoke again. "Do you have a boyfriend?" I nearly choked.
"Why would you ask that?" He handed me a napkin like he hadn't just detonated a bomb in my head.
"It's a secret." I glared.
"Then my answer's a secret too."
He smirked. "Then…do you still sketch?" I froze.
My fork hovered mid-air. I swallowed slowly and set it down.
"No. I don't have time. So please—enough with the questions." I looked back at my plate.
Because after he left, all I ever painted was him. Again and again. His face. His expressions. Every glance, every smirk, trapped in graphite like I was possessed.
My sketchpad was overflowing with versions of him until it hurt to look at it. I'd buried that sketchpad in a box under my bed, hoping that if I hid it, I'd forget.
But I never did.
"A doctor..." he repeated, completely ignoring my comment.
"Yes. A resident doctor," I emphasized. "Not an attending physician, but a resident doctor."
For the first time, his expression softened. It wasn't warm, but thoughtful.
"I didn't think you'd choose that path," he said quietly.
"But…it suits you." My chest tightened.
I hated that.
I looked up, and I saw him looking at me with his eyes soft, with a small smile plastered on his face.
That damn smile. I almost choked, thankfully I just swallowed my food.
I coughed and drank the matcha latte.
He chuckled, "It's a shame you don't sketch anymore," he said, leaning back.
"I would've paid you to draw a mural here." I glanced at the blank wall behind him.
"Well, good luck finding a painter," I muttered, because there's no way I'd paint here.
No way I'd stay long enough to be haunted by him with every brushstroke. A wall that big would take days. And I couldn't stand the thought of seeing his face reflected in every color.
"I'm done," I said, standing up and grabbing my drink.
"I'll take this home." I slung my bag over my shoulder and turned, then paused.
I forgot to say thank you.
He was clearing the tray, his back to me.
"Nova," I called.
He looked up. "Yeah?"
"Thanks." I gave him a small, faint smile.
He froze, just like the first day we met again.
I smiled to myself as I walked away, feeling oddly victorious. Like I'd won a quiet battle no one else knew existed.
Then I stopped mid-step.
The smile was still on my lips.
Wait. Did I just smile?
No. This isn't allowed.
Focus, Jen. You're supposed to be moving on. You promised yourself. You're supposed to forget him. Yeah. I should.
So why is my heart racing again? Why does his voice still echo in my chest like a song I can't turn off? Why does it feel like it's trying to tell me something I'm not ready to hear? Damn it.
This wasn't part of the plan.
I opened the door. The house had a way of sounding louder when it was empty.
Every tick of the clock echoed. Every hum of the refrigerator felt intentional, like it was reminding me that time was still moving even if I wasn't.
I dropped my bag by the door and kicked my shoes off, not bothering to line them up the way Mom liked. No one was here to comment anyway.
I collapsed onto the couch, arms sprawled, staring at the ceiling fan spinning lazily above me.
"So this is what loneliness tastes like," I muttered. "Finally, some peace."
I laughed, but it didn't last.
Because silence always made room for thoughts.
And my thoughts, traitorous as ever, went straight back to him.
Nova.
The way he remembered my seat. The way he said it was as if it had always been mine. The way he asked questions like he wasn't afraid of answers.
I sat up abruptly.
"Stop," I told myself. "Enough."
I stood, headed for my room, intending to shower the day off me.
But when I opened my cabinet, there it was.
The shoe box.
Still shoved all the way at the back, behind old notebooks and folded hospital jackets. Still pretending it didn't exist.
A yellow shoebox taped shut.
My chest tightened.
I stared at it for a long time.
I should've closed the cabinet and walked away as usual and pretended I hadn't seen it.
Instead, my hands moved.
I pulled the box out and sat on the floor, my back against the bed. The tape peeled away with a soft rip that sounded too loud in the quiet room.
Inside were my old art supplies.
Charcoal pencils.Some snapped clean in half.Some were worn down until there was barely anything left to hold.
A watercolor set, colors cracked and dry like they'd been abandoned. Thankfully, there hasn't been any mold forming.
And a small yellow sketchbook. My fingers hovered over it. A smile formed on my lips, and I opened it.
The first page was just my signature with my initials on it. Then the second was his face.
Nova.
It was the time after our competition, the time when I finally realized I'd fallen for him. It was the afternoon, when we had free time, since our teacher wasn't present.
I was busy sketching his face, I hadn't even notice a presence on my back.
"You really have a talent for drawing, Jen," Keth complimented as he looked over my shoulder while I sketched on the small yellow sketchbook my father had gifted me.
Back then, my parents supported my love for art, thinking it was just a hobby. So, I'm still happy and thought I could pursue it as a career in the future.
Sadly, it didn't happen.
"I know," I smiled, then glanced down the window on the second floor, where I saw him with his classmates doing exercises in their P.E. uniforms.
"I see now…you were inspired."
I flinched as his face was almost an inch away from mine.
I rolled my eyes and softly slapped his face away from me, then closed my sketchpad.
"As I thought, you're in love, aren't you?" he bluntly asked, and I immediately covered his mouth, glancing at our classmates who seemed busy with their own things.
Thank goodness they didn't hear him.
I wiped my hand on his uniform in disgust. "No," I denied.
But his brows wiggled, and he pointed outside with his mouth pouting. "It's obvious, Jen."
I rolled my eyes and stood up. "Whatever, I'm going out."
"Wait, where are you going? Let me join you!" he shouted behind me, but I had already run as fast as I could.
I sighed and panted as I collapsed onto the bench just outside our building, near the faucet.
"Goodness, I forgot my sketchbook," I mumbled as I stared at the sketchbook in my hand.
I ruffled my hair. Then I heard the sound of water running beside me.
I almost gasped when I saw him. His side profile was defined, fully in view from where I sat. He rubbed his face with the water pooled in his palms.
I gulped as I watched him ruffle his hair and wipe his face with the towel around his neck.
He didn't notice me at first.
Or maybe he did, and just chose not to react.
The water kept running, splashing softly against the concrete as he straightened up and took a deep breath, eyes closed for a second like he was resetting himself. When he opened them, his gaze drifted...and landed on me.
I stiffened.
Our eyes met.
He faintly smiled and stared at me for a moment longer than necessary, brows knitting together slightly, like he was trying to figure something out.
"Why are you here?" he asked finally, voice calm, almost casual.
I swallowed. "Break time," I answered, too quickly.
He hummed, nodding once, then turned back to the faucet, shutting it off. He reached for the towel again, draping it over his shoulder as he stepped closer.
Too close.
I could smell the fresh detergent again, without even the smell of sweat.
He took a step closer.
I tensed.
Too close.
My breath hitched as his shadow fell over me, blocking the light for a brief second. I felt his presence before I fully registered what he was doing.
"Jen—"
I panicked.
He was right there. His face inches from mine. I could see the tiny scar near his brow, the way his lashes cast faint shadows under his eyes.
He leaned in.
My heart exploded.
I shut my eyes and held my breath.
This was it.
This was—
A soft brush grazed my hair.
Not my lips.
My brows furrowed as something light tugged away from my head.
"Huh," he muttered. "You had a leaf."
I opened my eyes.
Slowly.
He was holding a small, crumpled leaf between his fingers, brows raised in mild amusement.
"That explains why Keth kept staring at you," he added, flicking the leaf away.
Oh.
Oh no.
Heat rushed to my face so fast I thought I might pass out.
"I—I—" My brain short-circuited.
I stood up too quickly, my knee hitting the bench with a dull thud. "I—I have to go!"
Before he could say anything else, I bolted.
I was already halfway across the courtyard, ears burning, heart pounding like I'd just survived a near-death experience.
By the time I stepped inside our classroom, I was immediately bombarded with questions from Keth. But all I did was bury my face into my desk, wishing I could crawl out of my own skin and die of embarrassment.
"Noah."
I heard someone call softly.
I shot up from my seat. It's not him, right?
I looked up. And there he was, standing right in front of my desk.
"W-why are you here?" I asked, my voice barely holding together, as I noticed several of our classmates turning to look at him. Whispers rippled through the room, followed by quiet squeals from the girls.
"Noah?" Keth echoed, brows furrowed in confusion.
I didn't even look at him.
Because my eyes were locked onto what Nova was holding.
A familiar yellow sketchpad.
"You left this," he said simply, pulling the sketchpad from under his arm and placing it gently on my desk.
My eyes widened as my gaze flickered between the sketchpad and his face.
"T-thanks," I stuttered, immediately snatching it back and shoving it against my chest.
Fuck.
He didn't see it, right? Right?
Please.
But my prayers went unanswered because it was already too late.
I saw him chuckle, covering his mouth with his hand as if to hide it, coughing lightly before he spoke.
"Nice drawing."
My heart sank. And that day, all I remembered was my soul leaving my body as he walked away from our classroom and my classmates' constant questions about him and Keth's teasing expression.
I laughed at the memory as I saw the next page. Which I drew after that incident.
It was a completely rendered and fully detailed portrait of him with a smile plastered on his face at the side of the faucet.
Then something slipped from between the pages and landed softly on my lap.
A folded piece of paper.
My brows furrowed as I unfolded it slowly.
I like your drawing.
My breath hitched as I saw the familiar handwriting on the paper.
A sound tore out of my chest as I pressed the paper against my mouth.
God.
I didn't see it. After all, after our encounter that day, I can't even open this sketchbook anymore since I treasured ever than ever before. Only flipping on the second page.
If I had seen this before...Maybe I would've considered arguing with Mom and Dad that time.
That instead of holding it in to be the perfect son.
I would have fought for it. But instead of that, I've buried myself alive with it.
I closed the sketchpad and set it gently back inside the box.
This time, I didn't tape it shut.
I left it open.