The steady beep of the monitor filled the sterile hospital room, faint against the hum of fluorescent lights. Lee stood near the foot of the bed, clipboard in hand, her expression unreadable. Her dark blue eyes barely flickered as she checked the IV drip.

Peji leaned back against the raised bed, his hospital gown wrinkled, tattoos just peeking from the sleeves. His black hair—bleached at the ends, messier than usual—curled a bit at his temple. And that smile... warm, teasing, and irritatingly familiar.

“So,” he said, voice low and lazy, “is this how you treat all your patients, or am I getting special treatment?”

Lee didn’t look at him. “Your vitals are stable. You should be resting.”

“I tried,” he replied with a mock sigh, “but then you walked in. It’s hard to sleep when my ex-girlfriend is standing by my bed in scrubs.”

Her hand stilled on the clipboard. “You’re making this difficult.”

Peji grinned. “I’ve always been difficult.”

He watched her shift uncomfortably. Her bangs fell slightly across her eyes as she adjusted her glasses—still the same little movements he remembered. Same bun. Same scent of lavender. It almost hurt.

“You’re still wearing those cheap pens in your pocket,” he said, voice softer now. “Even after all these years.”

“It writes fine.” She kept her tone clipped, but her knuckles were white around the clipboard.

“You look tired,” he added, eyes searching hers. “Overworked or just avoiding sleep like you used to?”

Lee didn’t answer.

“Still avoiding, huh?” Peji’s smile dropped a notch, replaced by something quieter. “I used to think if I just loved you hard enough, you’d let me in.”

“That’s not fair,” she said, finally meeting his eyes. “You knew what you were getting into.”

“I did,” he admitted. “But it still wrecked me.”

Silence.

The kind of silence where old ghosts crawled between words.

He turned his head slightly, jaw tightening. “You ever think about us?”

“Don’t,” she said.

But he noticed how her voice trembled.

“You ever miss me?” he asked gently.

Lee looked away, but the soft flush rising on her cheeks betrayed her. Her voice was barely a whisper. “Peji…”

He sat up straighter, eyes intent. “I missed you. Even when I hated missing you. I’d see you in the middle of my streams. In airports. Hell, even in stupid fried chicken commercials.”

A quiet laugh broke from her lips, surprised and fleeting. It was the first time she looked at him—not just professionally, but really looked.

“I see you too,” she said, almost reluctantly. “In stupid things.”

He softened. “So you do think of me.”

She didn’t deny it.

“You were the one who left,” she whispered, though it sounded more like a confession than a blame.

“You didn’t stop me,” he murmured.

“I didn’t know how,” she admitted.

Another silence—heavier now. Sadder.

Then he reached out, brushing his fingers lightly against her wrist. “You’re still so hard to read, Lee. But right now, you look like you want to cry.”

She pulled away gently, stepping back. “You’re my patient.”

“And you’re still the girl who won’t let anyone take care of her,” he said, voice edged with frustration. “Even when you’re breaking.”

Her throat tightened.

He didn’t know—couldn’t know—about the looming diagnosis, the quiet blood tests, the way her body had started betraying her. Leukemia. Like her mother.

She couldn’t let him know. Not now.

“I should go,” she said, turning to leave.

But just as her hand touched the doorknob, he called out, voice raw:

“I’m not here just to haunt you, Lee. I’m here because maybe… we were never finished.”

She froze.

Her heart thudded against her ribs, too loud, too hopeful.

But she said nothing.

Just like before.

And walked away. For now