The car was silent except for the soft hum of the engine and the gentle rhythm of Nana's breathing.
Zayne had stopped at a late-night bakery on the way back—one of the few places still open at this hour—to pick up desserts he wanted her to try. Chocolate cake, fruit tarts, cream puffs, things he'd thought she might enjoy,
things that might make her smile.
But when he returned to the car, boxes balanced carefully in his arms, he found her asleep in the passenger seat.
He stood there for a moment, just looking at her through the window.
She'd curled up slightly, her head resting against the seat, one hand tucked under her cheek. Her face was peaceful in sleep, all the worry and insecurity from the past few days finally smoothed away. No makeup, hair slightly mussed from the wind in the park, wearing the simple clothes she'd brought from the village.
Beautiful. Not beautiful from the polished, magazine-cover way that people usually meant. But in the way that mattered—genuine, soft, real. The kind of beauty that came from a good heart and a gentle soul, the kind that made his chest ache with tenderness.
Zayne carefully opened the driver's door, setting the bakery boxes in the back seat as quietly as possible. He slid into his seat and just... looked at her. Memorizing this moment.
Her sleeping peacefully in his car, trusting him completely, comfortable enough to rest.
His hand moved almost without conscious thought, reaching over to brush a strand of hair from her face. His fingers lingered, tracing the soft curve of her cheek. Warm. Real. Here.
I didn't know I could feel this, he thought. Didn't know love could be this gentle, this overwhelming, this right.
He thought love was what his parents had—distant, practical, more partnership than passion. He'd thought it was what Melissa represented—suitable, logical, mutually beneficial.
But this—this girl who brought sunshine to everyone she met, who cried over cake because she wanted to share it with her siblings, who'd saved his grandfather and somehow saved him too—this was something else entirely.
This was the kind of love that made him want to drive slowly just to spend more time with her. That made him pull off his coat and drape it carefully over her sleeping form. That made him choose her comfort over efficiency, every single time.
He started the car, but kept his speed well below the limit. Every red light was a gift.
Every stop sign was another minute to hear her soft breathing beside him, to glance over and see her peaceful face, to exist in this quiet bubble where the world was just the two of them and the gentle city lights passing by.
Tomorrow she'd go back to her village. Back to her job, her siblings, her life.
He'd return to his surgeries, his rounds, his responsibilities. The distance would stretch between them again, and he'd count the days until he could visit, until he could hold her, until he could make this permanent.
But tonight—tonight she was here, safe beside him, wrapped in his coat, trusting him to get her home.
He wanted to savor every second.
The apartment was dark and quiet when they arrived. Zayne carefully lifted Nana from the car—she barely stirred, just made a small sound and curled into his chest—and carried her inside.
The guest room was already prepared.
He'd changed the sheets that morning, wanting everything perfect for her. He laid her gently on the bed, tucking the blanket around her small form, making sure she was comfortable.
He should leave. Let her sleep. Get some rest himself before his early rounds tomorrow.
But as he stood to go, her hand shot out, catching his sleeve.
"Zayne?" Her voice was sleepy, confused. She blinked several times, taking in the unfamiliar room, the soft bed, the gentle lighting.
"Where—is this your apartment? Did I—oh no, did I fall asleep? Like a complete disaster?"
He couldn't help but smile at her mortification. "You were exhausted. It's been a long day."
"I'm sorry—I didn't mean to—you probably wanted to show me more of the city and I just passed out like a—" She sat up quickly, still wrapped in his coat, looking adorably rumpled and embarrassed.
"You have nothing to apologize for." He sat on the edge of the bed. "You needed rest. That's more important than sightseeing."
"But you went somewhere? I see bakery boxes—"
"I got dessert. Things I wanted you to try." He hesitated. "If you're hungry, we could have dinner? I was going to order takeout. I'm—" He gestured helplessly. "I'm terrible at cooking. Survival food only."
Her face lit up despite her tiredness. "Dinner sounds wonderful. And I want to try everything you bought."
A minutes later, they sat at his minimalist dining table, surrounded by takeout containers and bakery boxes. Zayne had ordered from his usual place—efficient, nutritious, the kind of food that sustained him between shifts but held no joy.
"It's fancy," Nana observed, examining the presentation. "Even takeout looks like art here."
"It's overpriced is what it is." Zayne pushed containers toward her. "Try the duck. It's the best thing on their menu."
She ate with genuine enthusiasm, making small sounds of appreciation that made him smile. She'd noticed he wasn't eating much—was mostly just watching her—and started putting food on his plate with her chopsticks.
"You need to eat too," she insisted. "You're always working, always forgetting to take care of yourself."
"I eat enough—
"Efficient you mean. Not enjoyably." She gave him a stern look that would have been more effective if she wasn't so small and adorable. "Eating should be pleasant, Zayne. Not just fuel."
"Says the girls who gives half her meals to her siblings."
She blushed but didn't deny it. "That's different."
"How?"
"Because they need it more than I do. They're growing. They need proper nutrition—"
"And you don't?" His voice was gentle but firm. "Nana, you work three jobs. You deserve to eat well too."
She looked down at her plate, that familiar guilt crossing her features. The guilt of taking anything for herself, of being worth caring for.Zayne picked up a piece of duck with his chopsticks and held it toward her.
"Taste this. Tell me if it's worth the ridiculous price."
She leaned forward and accepted the bite, eyes widening. "Oh. Oh, that's really good."
"Worth thirty yuan?"
"Definitely not. But still delicious." She smiled. "Though I think I could make something similar for a fifth of the price."
"I have no doubt." He opened the first bakery box. "Now try this. Chocolate cake. It's famous apparently."
She took a bite and froze. Her eyes filled with tears.
"Nana? What's wrong? Is it bad—"
"It's perfect," she whispered, voice thick.
"It's so good. And I just—I'm thinking about Lili. She would love this. She's never had real chocolate cake, just the cheap kind from the corner store. She'd be so happy—"
Nana tears spilled over, and she was smiling and crying at the same time, overwhelmed by the taste and the thought of her baby sister who she loved so fiercely.
Zayne felt something crack in his chest. Even now, eating the finest dessert she'd ever tasted, her first thought was of sharing it. Of making others happy. Of everyone else before herself.
"We'll bring her some," he said, voice rough with emotion. "Next time I visit. I'll bring a whole cake for all of them. The biggest one they have."
"Really?" Her eyes shone with hope and tears.
"Really. I want to see Lili's face when she tries it." He paused. "I want to make your whole family happy. Because they make you happy. And you—" His voice caught. "You deserve all the happiness in the world."
She set down her fork and reached across the table, taking his hand. "You make me happy. More than chocolate cake. More than anything."
They sat like that, hands clasped across takeout containers and fancy desserts, in his sterile apartment that felt less empty with her in it.
"Try the cream puff," Zayne said eventually, needing to move past the emotion before it overwhelmed him. "I think you'll like it."
She did, feeding herself the first bite and then—without thinking, in that unconsciously caring way she had—reaching across to feed him a bite too. Her thumb brushed his lip, wiping away a crumb, so gentle and natural it made his breath catch.
"There," she said softly. "Can't have the famous surgeon walking around with cream on his face."
Zayne had to look away. Had to blink rapidly against the sudden burning in his eyes. Such a small gesture—wiping a crumb from his lip—but no one had done that since he was a child. Since before his parents left. Since before he learned that caring for yourself was more efficient than waiting for someone else to notice you needed care.
Nana noticed. She always noticed.
"Thank you," he managed, voice rough.
"For what?"
For seeing me. For caring. For being exactly who you are.
"For eating with me. For being here. For—" He gestured helplessly. "For everything."
She smiled, soft and understanding, like she heard all the words he couldn't say.
They finished dessert in comfortable silence, and Zayne found himself memorizing every detail: the way she savored each bite, the small happy sounds she made, the chocolate smudge at the corner of her mouth she didn't notice until he reached over to wipe it away, the way she blushed when their fingers touched.
"I should let you sleep," he said finally, though he didn't want to. "I have rounds at six tomorrow morning. And you—" He paused. "Your flight is at two. I'll drive you to the airport."
"You don't have to—I can take a taxi—"
"I want to." His voice was firm. "I'm not letting you navigate a city airport alone for your first time. I'll rearrange my schedule. I'll drive you, make sure you get home safely."
"But your work—"
"Can wait." He stood, starting to gather the empty containers. "You're more important."
She stood too, helping him clean up even though he protested. "I don't want to be a burden on your career—"
"Nana." He stopped, turned to face her. "You're not a burden. You're the point. The reason I work so hard—so I can have a life that includes you. So I can build something worth coming home to."
She moved then, closing the distance between them, wrapping her arms around his waist and pressing her face to his chest.
He held her close, breathing in the scent of her hair, feeling her heartbeat against him.
"Thank you for today," she whispered. "For showing me your world. For making me believe I can belong here."
"You already belong here." He kissed the top of her head. "Anywhere I am, you belong. Always."
They stood like that for a long moment, holding each other in his sterile kitchen, surrounded by empty takeout containers and bakery boxes, creating warmth in a space that had been cold for too long.
"Go sleep," Zayne said eventually, reluctantly releasing her. "I'll see you in the morning."
"Okay." She looked up at him, smile soft. "Goodnight, Zayne."
"Goodnight, Nana."
He watched her go to the guest room, waiting until the door closed before letting out a shaky breath. Tomorrow she'd leave. Tomorrow the apartment would be empty again. Tomorrow he'd return to his routine—surgeries, rounds, saving lives but feeling hollow.
But tonight she was here. And tonight, for the first time in years, his apartment felt like it could maybe, someday, become a home.
Zayne lay in his own bed—too large, too cold, too empty—staring at the ceiling, knowing she was just down the hall. Knowing she was here, safe, sleeping in his space.
His phone buzzed. A text from Nana:
Can't sleep. Too many thoughts. Thank you for everything today. For believing in me when I didn't believe in myself. For showing me that maybe, just maybe, we can make this work. Sweet dreams. —N
He smiled, typing back:
We WILL make this work. Not maybe. Definitely. Sleep well, Nana. I'm right here if you need anything.
Three dots appeared, disappeared, appeared again. Finally:
I know. That's why I can sleep now. Because you're here. Goodnight.
Zayne set down his phone and closed his eyes, a smile on his face despite the ache in his chest.
Tomorrow she'd leave.
But she'd come back.
And someday—someday soon—she wouldn't have to leave at all.
Someday, they'd fall asleep under the same roof and wake up together.
Someday, his empty apartment would be filled with her laughter, her cooking, her warmth.
Someday, he'd marry this woman who cried over chocolate cake because she wanted to share it with her siblings.
Someday.
But for now, he'd settle for knowing she was sleeping peacefully down the hall, safe and loved and finally believing she was enough.
More than enough.
Everything.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued __