James sat rigidly in his wheelchair, fingers gripping the armrests so tightly his knuckles paled. Beside him stood Collins—his doctor, his friend, and far too observant for comfort.
"James," Collins began, his voice calm but probing, "a patient of mine had an accident six months ago. He committed to therapy… and now he's walking again."
A pause. Heavy. Deliberate.
"Collins, don't," James cut in sharply, his jaw tightening. "Don't talk about it."
Collins tilted his head, studying him. "Or maybe we should talk about what's really changed.
Someone's been making you smile." A faint smirk tugged at his lips. "The caregiver."
"I don't know what you're talking about," James replied, too quickly, his gaze shifting away.
Before Collins could press further, the door creaked open.
Juliet stepped in.
"Good morning, sir," she said softly.
James's head snapped toward her. "Good morning… what?"
Silence.
"Good morning what?" he repeated, his tone sharper now, charged with something unspoken.
Juliet froze, her breath catching.
"We literally spent the whole night kissing, didn't we?" James said.
Collins exhaled, shaking his head.
"I think I should excuse you,He said".
The door clicked shut.
The room thickened with tension.
In a sudden movement, James reached out, pulling Juliet toward him. She gasped as he drew her down onto his lap, her hands instinctively bracing against his chest.
"Now everyone knows," she whispered, her voice barely steady. "We kissed."
James leaned closer, his voice low, almost dangerous. "Good. I want them to know." His eyes locked onto hers. "You're mine… my little angel."
Her lips curved into a small, helpless smile, though her heart raced. "Are you hungry?" she asked, trying to steady herself. "I could make you breakfast."
James didn't look away. Not for a second.
"Are you on the menu?" he murmured.
Juliet let out a soft breath, her cheeks warming.
"Not at the moment."
Before he could respond, she leaned in, pressing a quick, lingering kiss to his lips—just enough to leave him wanting more.
Then she slipped away.
By the time she reached the door, James was still watching her, his grip tightening once more on the arms of his wheelchair… as if holding himself back from following.
"The pasta was… incredible," Collins said, setting his fork down slowly. "I haven't had anything that good in years.
And trust me—I don't exaggerate."
Juliet forced a small smile, her fingers tightening around the novel James had given her. She snapped it shut, the sound sharper than she intended.
"Doctor…" she called, her voice lower now. "Can he still walk?"
Collins exhaled, his gaze drifting away. "Yes. He can." A pause. "He just… refuses to."
Inside James' room, the air felt heavy.
Juliet stood still for a moment, her shoulders slumped, exhaustion written all over her face.
"Babe," James said, studying her. "What's wrong? What do you want?"
She stepped closer, her eyes locking onto his. "Promise me something first."
James smirked faintly. "You already know I'll give you anything. Especially if it's me you want."
A slow smile spread across Juliet's lips—but it didn't reach her eyes.
"I don't want you."
The words landed like a slap.
James' expression hardened. "Then what?"
"It's your birthday in a few days," she said, her voice trembling slightly despite her effort to stay firm. "I want you to walk."
Silence.
Then—
"You want me to… walk?" James' voice rose, disbelief turning sharp. "So that's it? You don't love me like this? You don't love me because I'm in this wheelchair?"
"No!" Juliet snapped. "That's not what I said."
"Then what are you saying?" he shot back.
"I just want you to try," she said, softer now, but more desperate. "I want you to live again."
James' jaw tightened. He looked away.
"I'm not ready," he said coldly. "I'm not walking."
The finality in his voice cut deep.
Juliet stood there for a second, her chest rising and falling. Then anger surged through her.
Without another word, she turned and stormed out, the door slamming hard enough to echo through the house.