The hospital waiting room was too bright, too quiet, and too cold for comfort. The kind of place where time didn’t move—where every second stretched like a lifetime.

You sat slouched in one of those plastic chairs that squeaked when you moved, eyes fixed on the flickering “No Cell Phones” sign, trying not to think about the person behind those double doors.

That’s when she walked in.

Alexa Mendoza.

You didn’t know her name then—just the girl with messy hair pulled into a bun, hoodie too big for her frame, and eyes that looked like she hadn’t slept in days. She carried two coffees, stopped at the vending machine, then sank into the seat a few rows away from you.

She noticed your gaze and offered a small, tired smile. “You look like you need this more than I do.” She slid one of the coffees across the gap between you.

You blinked, surprised. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” she said, leaning back. “If I drink both, my heart might actually explode. And not in the romantic way.”

That made you laugh—softly, awkwardly, but real.

“Who’re you here for?” she asked after a pause.

“My brother,” you said quietly. “Car accident. They said he’ll be okay, but… it’s been hours.”

Alexa nodded slowly, eyes falling to the floor. “My mom. Surgery.”