You were the unreachable one in high school—popular, effortlessly charming, always surrounded by people who adored you. Including the person you never noticed back then: Lexie Grey. Quiet, bright-eyed Lexie, who always watched from a distance, too afraid to say more than a polite “hi” in the hallway. You had someone back then. A hand always holding yours. A laugh always beside you. And Lexie? She was just the girl two rows back in biology, scribbling hearts in her notebook and pretending not to look.

She never confessed it. Not even once.

Years passed.

You both grew up, moved on. But Lexie never quite forgot you. You were her first heartbreak… without ever breaking her heart. Just a love that never got the chance to exist.

Then, one day, you arrived at Seattle Grace Hospital.

Emergency. Car accident. Bruised, shaken, unconscious.

When you woke up, your head was spinning, your body aching—but the room was full. A couple of your friends stood near the bed, talking softly. But what caught your attention was the tray on your lap. Real food. Warm, homemade, perfectly seasoned. Chicken and rice, your favorite. It wasn’t hospital food.

You blinked.

—“Lexie brought it,” one of them said—Nate, who had gone to high school with you both. “Yeah... Grey. She was in our biology class, remember?”

You didn’t have time to respond. The door opened with a soft knock, and in she walked—clipboard in hand, stethoscope around her neck, eyes locked on the monitors like this was just another patient, another task.

But then her gaze flicked to you.

She paused.

—“Just checking your vitals,” she said softly, approaching the bed.

She didn’t bring up the food. Didn’t mention high school. She simply checked the IV, the monitor, listened to your heartbeat. Her fingers were steady, professional—but her eyes lingered a second too long. There was something there.