Ty walked slowly toward her door, his knuckles rapping softly against the wooden frame. But inside, Zhoey stayed quiet, pretending as though she hadn't heard a thing. Her silence was deliberate, heavy, like she wanted him to know she was still upset. With a quiet sigh, Ty stepped away. On his way out, his eyes caught sight of a little roadside shop, a display filled with baby toys and tiny teddy bears swaying gently from strings. The old woman behind the table smiled knowingly.
"She may be angry," she told him, her voice warm yet teasing, "but this… this could make her day." She pointed to a small, fluffy teddy. Ty chuckled awkwardly and waved her off, pretending he wasn't interested. But even as he walked past, the thought refused to leave his mind. The stubborn little bear tugged at him until his feet betrayed him. A minute later, he was back at the stand, money in hand, the tiny bear now his. Something in his chest quickened, urging him to hurry home. He didn't know why, but it felt urgent, like time was suddenly against him.
The moment he stepped through the door and shut it behind him, a sharp sound split the air. Thud! A glass shattered, followed by a soft, stifled scream. Ty's eyes widened, his heartbeat racing. He rushed toward the sound, only to find Zhoey halfway up the stairs, her face pale with strain, her ankle still weak. She had insisted on moving, stubborn as ever, despite her injury. Before she could fall again, Ty swept her into his arms without hesitation.
"Put me down!" she protested, wriggling, her voice fierce but faint. He didn't reply, didn't even meet her glare. His jaw was set, his focus locked on her safety. He carried her out, placed her carefully into the car, and drove straight to the hospital, his hands tight around the steering wheel the entire way.
Hours later, after she'd been treated and bandaged, Zhoey turned her back on him in the hospital bed. Ty hovered nearby, guilt written all over his face. "Zhoey," he murmured, voice low. "I'm… I'm sorry. For earlier." Silence. He shifted uncomfortably. Apologizing wasn't something he did often, it felt strange, awkward, but necessary. If she didn't forgive him, he swore his chest would crack open. "Please," he added, almost in a whisper. "Don't ignore me." Still nothing. She looked as if she were asleep, her breathing steady. Defeated, Ty sank into the chair beside her bed. He waited a little longer, then, with a soft sigh, left quietly without her knowing.
The moment the door closed, Zhoey's eyes opened. She turned, expecting to see him there, but the chair was empty. A pang of disappointment swept through her. She let out a soft sigh, only to feel something pressed gently against her back. Her fingers curled around it. She pulled it out. A teddy bear. Small. Fluffy. Heart-melting. Her lips curved into an involuntary smile as she hugged it against her chest, whispering a tiny compliment about the hospital's "hospitality."
Just then, the door creaked again. Ty returned, arms full, snacks, ice cream, and little things he thought might brighten her stay. Zhoey's eyes widened, but instead of commenting, she reached into the bag and began pulling things out, haphazardly, whatever her hand touched first, and tucking them under her pillow. Ty watched, confused but strangely charmed. A smile tugged at his lips before he realized it. Why was she so cute when she was being this stubborn? After nibbling on a few snacks and taking a sip of water, Zhoey tried to get up.
"Bathroom," she muttered, waving him off when he stepped forward. He wanted to help, but she shook her head, her pride firm. She managed on her own, and when she returned, she slipped back under the sheets, her movements softer now, exhaustion settling over her.
Later that night, Ty lay stretched out on a makeshift bed on the floor. He had no blanket because she had discovered he'd used it earlier to cover her. With a little huff, she got up, dragged the blanket off herself, and laid it gently over him. Her eyes lingered. The way his hair fell loosely across his forehead. The calm curve of his lips. The quiet rise and fall of his chest. He looked so different like this, unguarded. Something stirred inside her. Almost without thinking, her hand lifted, hovering close to his face. She wanted to touch him, to confirm something. Slowly, she placed her palm over his mouth and nose, like a mask, as if testing… testing whether he'd react.
In an instant, his eyes shot open. Emerald. Sharp. Piercing. Zhoey gasped, her breath caught in her throat. Her hand jerked back, but in her flustered attempt to push herself away, her fingers accidentally clutched onto something, something solid, something massive. Her eyes widened in horror. What in heaven's name was that?
Zhoey froze, her palm still pressed against something firm. Her eyes widened as realization struck. It wasn't what she thought—no, it was worse. Her hand had landed flat on Ty's chest. Her mind scrambled. What the hell?! Why is it… why is it this massive? She blinked rapidly, pulling her hand back like it had been burned, but not before she felt the defined ridges of muscle beneath his shirt. His chest was solid, broad, like a shield—but hidden perfectly under the loose shirts he always wore. Nothing about his clothes ever gave it away.
Zhoey's heart skipped. She swallowed hard, retreating quickly to her bed. She turned her back, tugged the blanket over herself, and forced her breathing to calm. Act normal, Zhoey. Nothing happened. Nothing. You didn't just touch Mount Everest hiding under his shirt. She cringed inwardly, face buried in the pillow, trying to push the thought away. Ty watched her silently from the floor, one brow raised, a faint smile tugging at his lips. He didn't say a word—maybe he didn't need to.
The following day, Zhoey was discharged. Ty handled the paperwork, escorted her out, and drove her home. The car ride was quiet, tension hanging like mist between them, though neither spoke about the moment. They were both restless inside, but they carried it with silence. When they arrived, Ty helped her inside, his hand firm but gentle at her elbow. For a fleeting second, their eyes met, and neither looked away fast enough. Something was happening, something neither of them wanted to name out loud.
>>>>>>
The evening had stretched into quiet, and the house had fallen into a soft hush. On the balcony, Zhoey and Ty found themselves alone beneath the night sky. The clouds drifted lazily, parting here and there to reveal scattered stars. The air was cool, calm, almost dreamy—like the world itself was holding its breath for them.
They stood side by side, close enough that their arms occasionally brushed. Each accidental touch sent little sparks racing under Zhoey's skin, though she tried to keep her face steady. The silence wasn't heavy—it was meaningful, humming with things left unsaid.
Then their hands brushed again, and this time neither pulled away. Ty turned to her slowly, his gaze locking on hers. His voice dropped low, soft, almost unsure but steady enough to make her heart skip.
"What if you be my girlfriend?"
Zhoey blinked, stunned. Her mind went blank, caught completely off guard. She opened her mouth but no words came out. Her heart raced wildly, betraying her confusion.
Before she could gather a response, Ty gently took her hand. His touch was warm, grounding, and in the same heartbeat, he lifted her hand and pressed a tender kiss against it.
And then—without giving himself a chance to second-guess—he leaned in and kissed her.
Zhoey froze, lips parting in shock, her entire body going stiff. She lightly pressed her palms against his chest, not pushing him away entirely but trying to steady herself, to understand what was happening. The warmth of his chest under her hands only made her more aware of the moment, of him, of everything.
Ty didn't move further. He stayed still, almost frozen in time, his emotions spilling through his eyes. It was as if he himself couldn't believe what he had just done. What was he doing? His mind screamed at him, but his heart refused to regret it.
And it was in that exact, fragile moment—when the night itself seemed to pause—that Collins stepped into the compound.
>>>Collin's POV
He had spent the past more days with his grandfather. The old man was also a veterinary doctor, and their conversations had been simple, steady—a comfort Collins clung to. But no matter how much he tried, Zhoey wouldn't leave his mind. He told himself it was wrong. He told himself she belonged with Ty. Over and over again, he tried to bury the thought. But feelings aren't seeds you bury. They're sparks. The more you try to smother them, the more fiercely they burn.
It was like Mentos in a Coke bottle—suddenly bubbling, rushing, exploding inside him. He couldn't contain it anymore. So, Collins bought a bouquet of flowers. He told himself he'd be strong enough—maybe not to win her, but at least to confess, to let it out before it tore him apart. His steps felt heavy as he reached the house, his heart pounding against his ribs like a war drum. The gate opened. He stepped through, nerves crawling over his skin. Then his eyes lifted—toward the balcony.
And there he saw it. The flowers slipped from his hand instantly, petals scattering across the ground. It felt like something sharp and invisible had been driven straight into his chest. His breath caught. He staggered, pressing a hand against his shirt as if trying to hold his heart together. Zhoey was there. But not just her. She was standing close—too close—to Ty. There was something in the way their bodies leaned, in the unspoken electricity between them. He saw it before his mind could deny it: the connection. The bond. The thing he'd been trying to pretend didn't exist.
His chest tightened unbearably. He couldn't breathe. It was as if the world had narrowed to a single point: them together. His mind raced in fragments—Had his time run out? Was this the moment he lost her forever? Was he foolish to even hope? Collins stumbled back a step, the ground tilting beneath him. He wished he could turn back time, wished he hadn't come, wished he didn't feel this way at all. But the truth seared into him like fire: he loved her, but didn't notice it since instead he saw her in another light as his sister And that love was tearing him apart.