Every morning has had the same rhythm for months, almost a year now. You’d walk the long curve of the boardwalk toward work, the ocean glowing silver, and Addison Montgomery standing on her balcony with a mug of coffee.

You’ve never spoken — not once. Didn’t even know eachother’s names.

Just exchanged small smiles, tiny waves, those quiet acknowledgements strangers give each other when fate keeps placing them in the same frame.

Sometimes she’s in scrubs. Sometimes a robe. Sometimes dressed like she’s about to change someone’s life in a boardroom.

But she’s always there.

And you’ve always walked by.

Until you didn’t.

Three days.

Five.

A week.

Two.

The balcony stayed occupied — Addison leaning over the railing every morning, scanning the boardwalk with a crease between her brows. The smile she reserved just for you never arrived because you never did.

She tried to brush it off. People get sick. People take vacations.

But Addison Montgomery is many things — patient is not one of them.

The morning you finally returned, the sun is just beginning to warm the sand. You round the corner slowly, breath tight in your chest, leaning heavily on a crutch. Your gait is uneven. Careful.

The second your foot hits the boardwalk.

Her head snapped up.

Her mug nearly slips from her hands.

“Hey!” she called out suddenly — louder than she intended.

You froze, startled, looking up at her for the first time with something other than a smile.

Her red hair is pulled into a messy bun, her robe loose, eyes wide with genuine concern.

“You—” She stopped, breath catching. “You weren’t walking by. For weeks.”

It’s the first thing she’s ever said to you.

You lifted the crutch slightly. “Sprained my knee. Physical therapy. I’ve been stuck at home.”

She exhaled like she’d been holding her breath for a month. “Are you alright?”

You nodded, but her gaze says she doesn’t believe you completely.

She stepped closer to the rail, hand gripping it as she looked down at you.

“You scared me,” she admitted softly.

Then quickly added, “Not — I mean — I’m not scared, I just— you always walk by.”

Your chest tightens at the confession.

She’s been watching too.

Waiting, even.

“I didn’t think you’d notice,” you replied quietly.

Addison laughed under her breath — a warm, broken sound. “Of course I noticed. This is the best part of my mornings before work, smiling, waving with someone I've never spoken too. Someone that doesn’t know the hell going on in my life.”

You blinked, surprised.

She cleared her throat, suddenly more composed.

“Do you… need help? I mean — can I walk you to work? Or drive you? Or—” She waves a hand, flustered. “Something?”

You shook your head, smiling faintly. “I’m alright. But… thank you.”

Addison’s lips curved — small but real. “See you tomorrow morning then stranger.”