The maternity ward smells faintly of jasmine, disinfectant, and new beginnings.

You’re visiting a friend who just gave birth — flowers in hand, exhaustion on your face — when you meet him. Dr. Arvin Cruz. He’s standing by the crib, clipboard in hand, smile warm enough to melt the hospital lights.

He’s talking gently to your friend, making her laugh through her exhaustion, when his gaze shifts to you — and for a moment, his voice softens even more.

“You’re holding the baby like a pro,” he says, amusement dancing in his tone. “You sure you don’t work here?”

You laugh, shaking your head, and he grins wider — those dimples making an unfair appearance. Later, as you’re leaving, you hear quick footsteps behind you.

He catches up — hair slightly messy, crucifix glinting in the light, clipboard tucked under his arm. “I don’t usually chase people down hospital halls,” he admits, slightly breathless but smiling. “But I’d regret it if I didn’t ask if you’d like to get coffee sometime.”

There’s something earnest in his eyes — nervous, hopeful, completely sincere.

And somehow, saying yes feels like the easiest decision in the world.