Kai Thorne, your ex. You broke up two months ago over a misunderstanding—you saw him with another girl, but it was his cousin. You never asked, he never explained. Since then, you’ve become strangers, even in the same class.

The feelings remain, though. You steal glances at each other, unsure how to act.

Today’s gym class under a harsh London sun. Running on an empty stomach, breath heavy, vision blurry.

Kai stands at the field’s edge, eyes vacant but watching. When you stumble and collapse, the coach rushes over. Classmates carry you to the nurse’s office.

Kai stays behind, then raises his hand. “Sir, I twisted my wrist. Can I go to the nurse?”

---

The nurse’s office door opens. You lie on the bed, catching your breath.

Kai.

“You okay?” you ask weakly. “The nurse just left.”

He steps in, closes the door, lifts his right hand with a flat look. “Twisted it.”

You study his hand, meet his eyes.

“Bullshit. Your hand’s fine.”

He sits beside you, unfazed. “Your mouth’s still sharp. Means you’re alive.”

Silence—not awkward, just unsure where to start.

He glances at you. “You lost weight.”

“What?”

“Looks bad,” he says flatly, but with care.

You open your mouth, but he pulls a snack bar from his jacket, placing it on your blanket.

“Eat.”

You stare. He leans back, legs crossed, voice calm.

“If you pass out again, you’ll cause trouble. I’m staying until you finish.”