Kael sat in his car for almost twenty minutes before starting the engine.
The windshield was streaked with dried rain. The city had started to come alive again—early workers, flashing crosswalks, the distant hum of a trash truck rolling through backstreets.
But Kael didn't hear any of it.
He heard Amara's voice.
"Don't choose me out of guilt.
And don't lie to her out of habit."
He rested his head against the steering wheel.
"I can't carry both of you in the same heart," he whispered.
At Tasha's apartment, Rin sat at the window with a cold mug of tea beside her. Her phone sat facedown on the sill. Her legs were curled beneath her. Eyes fixed outside. Waiting for something that wouldn't explain itself.
Tasha entered quietly, towel wrapped around her hair, still drying from a shower.
"No update?" she asked.
Rin didn't answer at first.
Then: "He's not the kind of person who lies to your face.
He's the kind who lets truth fester in silence."
Tasha sat across from her. "You still want him?"
"I want answers," Rin said. "Then I'll decide if I still want him."
At Boston Medical, Amara was sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed. Her sketchbook was open on her lap, but the pencil sat still in her hand.
Liana stepped in, clipboard in one hand, a banana in the other.
"I know you skipped breakfast," Liana said, tossing it gently onto the bed. "Try not to die of potassium deficiency."
Amara cracked a small smile, then peeled it slowly.
"You always this gentle with your patients?" she asked.
Liana shrugged, flipping through the chart. "Just the ones who sketch broken men like they're sacred."
Amara's smile faded.
Liana looked up, serious now. "You okay today?"
"Define okay," Amara said.
"Not trembling when a door closes. Not freezing in a hallway."
Amara's fingers tightened around the banana. She didn't answer.
"I'll take that as a 'not yet,'" Liana said gently, then stood. "Group therapy's optional today. But I'll leave the door open."
She paused at the exit.
"And Amara?"
Amara looked up.
"You survived. That's not nothing."
In a nearby hallway, Dr. Jonah Feld spoke quietly to a colleague near the nurses' station.
"She's speaking more. Interacting. Drawing constantly," he said. "It's a good sign."
The other nurse, Kelsie, nodded. "And the nightmares?"
Jonah sighed. "Still frequent. But she's not suppressing anymore. That matters."
They didn't know Amara could hear every word.
Nova leaned against the stone wall just outside the hospital garden. A breeze lifted her curls slightly. She tapped her phone against her thigh.
She'd texted Kael an hour ago.
Can we meet later? Just to talk. No pressure.
Still nothing.
She looked up at the sky, narrowed her eyes.
"You said you'd always be honest, Kael.
So what's this silence supposed to be?"
Kael finally arrived at home. The apartment was still.
He stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. The lights were off, but Rin was sitting on the couch.
She didn't turn around.
"Where've you been?" she asked.
Kael didn't lie. "With her."
Still, she didn't turn.
"How'd it feel?"
Kael sat down in the armchair across from her. "Like I was standing in a life I'd already buried."
Rin slowly turned toward him. Her eyes were puffy but dry.
"You're not the only one who lost something, Kael.
But I'm the only one who watched you mourn someone while lying next to me."
He looked down.
"I never meant to make you feel like a placeholder."
"But you did," Rin said. "You made me feel like a bridge between grief and closure. And I'm scared that now she's back… you don't need a bridge anymore."
Eli stood at the back corner of a dim lounge downtown, half-dressed in a black tee and ripped jeans, watching the bartender across the room with tired eyes.
She moved like music—never rushed, always aware of the rhythm around her.
Nari.
She spotted him and smiled as she shook a drink.
Eli smiled back—small, crooked, haunted.
But when she turned away, his smile faded.
He pulled a wrinkled napkin from his pocket. On it, scribbled in sharpie:
"If I ever tell you what's wrong, promise you won't run."
He folded it again. Put it back in his jacket.
Didn't hand it to her.
At the hospital garden, Kael sat next to Amara again. They didn't talk for a long time.
Finally, Amara broke the silence.
"I hate the way my skin flinches when someone passes behind me."
Kael looked over. "That's not weakness."
"I know," she said. "But it still feels like it."
She picked at the band on her wrist.
"You ever feel like you're waiting for someone to tell you it's okay to stop surviving?"
Kael answered without hesitation.
"Every day."
Kael sat in his car for almost twenty minutes before starting the engine.
The windshield was streaked with dried rain. The city had started to come alive again—early workers, flashing crosswalks, the distant hum of a trash truck rolling through backstreets.
But Kael didn't hear any of it.
He heard Amara's voice.
"Don't choose me out of guilt.
And don't lie to her out of habit."
He rested his head against the steering wheel.
"I can't carry both of you in the same heart," he whispered.
At Tasha's apartment, Rin sat at the window with a cold mug of tea beside her. Her phone sat facedown on the sill. Her legs were curled beneath her. Eyes fixed outside. Waiting for something that wouldn't explain itself.
Tasha entered quietly, towel wrapped around her hair, still drying from a shower.
"No update?" she asked.
Rin didn't answer at first.
Then: "He's not the kind of person who lies to your face.
He's the kind who lets truth fester in silence."
Tasha sat across from her. "You still want him?"
"I want answers," Rin said. "Then I'll decide if I still want him."
At Boston Medical, Amara was sitting cross-legged on the hospital bed. Her sketchbook was open on her lap, but the pencil sat still in her hand.
Liana stepped in, clipboard in one hand, a banana in the other.
"I know you skipped breakfast," Liana said, tossing it gently onto the bed. "Try not to die of potassium deficiency."
Amara cracked a small smile, then peeled it slowly.
"You always this gentle with your patients?" she asked.
Liana shrugged, flipping through the chart. "Just the ones who sketch broken men like they're sacred."
Amara's smile faded.
Liana looked up, serious now. "You okay today?"
"Define okay," Amara said.
"Not trembling when a door closes. Not freezing in a hallway."
Amara's fingers tightened around the banana. She didn't answer.
"I'll take that as a 'not yet,'" Liana said gently, then stood. "Group therapy's optional today. But I'll leave the door open."
She paused at the exit.
"And Amara?"
Amara looked up.
"You survived. That's not nothing."
In a nearby hallway, Dr. Jonah Feld spoke quietly to a colleague near the nurses' station.
"She's speaking more. Interacting. Drawing constantly," he said. "It's a good sign."
The other nurse, Kelsie, nodded. "And the nightmares?"
Jonah sighed. "Still frequent. But she's not suppressing anymore. That matters."
They didn't know Amara could hear every word.
Nova leaned against the stone wall just outside the hospital garden. A breeze lifted her curls slightly. She tapped her phone against her thigh.
She'd texted Kael an hour ago.
Can we meet later? Just to talk. No pressure.
Still nothing.
She looked up at the sky, narrowed her eyes.
"You said you'd always be honest, Kael.
So what's this silence supposed to be?"
Kael finally arrived at home. The apartment was still.
He stepped inside and closed the door softly behind him. The lights were off, but Rin was sitting on the couch.
She didn't turn around.
"Where've you been?" she asked.
Kael didn't lie. "With her."
Still, she didn't turn.
"How'd it feel?"
Kael sat down in the armchair across from her. "Like I was standing in a life I'd already buried."
Rin slowly turned toward him. Her eyes were puffy but dry.
"You're not the only one who lost something, Kael.
But I'm the only one who watched you mourn someone while lying next to me."
He looked down.
"I never meant to make you feel like a placeholder."
"But you did," Rin said. "You made me feel like a bridge between grief and closure. And I'm scared that now she's back… you don't need a bridge anymore."
Eli stood at the back corner of a dim lounge downtown, half-dressed in a black tee and ripped jeans, watching the bartender across the room with tired eyes.
She moved like music—never rushed, always aware of the rhythm around her.
Nari.
She spotted him and smiled as she shook a drink.
Eli smiled back—small, crooked, haunted.
But when she turned away, his smile faded.
He pulled a wrinkled napkin from his pocket. On it, scribbled in sharpie:
"If I ever tell you what's wrong, promise you won't run."
He folded it again. Put it back in his jacket.
Didn't hand it to her.
At the hospital garden, Kael sat next to Amara again. They didn't talk for a long time.
Finally, Amara broke the silence.
"I hate the way my skin flinches when someone passes behind me."
Kael looked over. "That's not weakness."
"I know," she said. "But it still feels like it."
She picked at the band on her wrist.
"You ever feel like you're waiting for someone to tell you it's okay to stop surviving?"
Kael answered without hesitation.
"Every day."