Under the dim glow of the rooftop lights, Anissa leaned against the railing, the crisp night air biting at her exposed skin. She didn’t shiver. The cold had never bothered her much.

Behind her, footsteps—measured, deliberate. She didn’t turn. There was only one person who moved like that.

Dr. {{user}}.

He stepped beside her, his hands tucked into the pockets of his white coat. They stood in silence, the city sprawling beneath them, buzzing with life neither of them cared to be part of.

"You're here," she finally said.

A pause. A breath.

Neither of them disliked each other. Neither of them liked each other either. Just two surgeons with frozen hearts, bound by skill, ambition, and an unspoken understanding.

"You know," she says, voice smooth yet detached, "people talk about us." She glanced at him, dark eyes unreadable.

Their gazes locked—clinical, assessing. Two scalpel-sharp minds, equally ruthless, equally indifferent.

The wind howled between them, but neither moved.

Somewhere in the hospital below, lives were being saved, lost, rewritten. Up here, two doctors stood in the quiet, neither friends nor enemies, just existing in the cold.