Leona had been holed up in the house for the last two days, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts that refused to settle. The first day, Marcus had left her alone, thinking she just needed some space, but the second day? He was practically hovering, checking in every hour, knocking on her door, and asking if she needed anything, though she knew it wasn't really about her needing anything-it was about him needing to know she was still alive.
She couldn't bring herself to face him yet, not when she was struggling with her thoughts. The novel that had come so easily before now seemed a distant memory, a string of words she couldn't catch, no matter how hard she tried. The story had been about two best friends, people who had lost touch but found their way back to each other. The kind of love story that, in her current state, felt almost impossible.
Sitting on the edge of the bed, she glanced over at her manuscript, the pages scattered on the desk in front of her. She'd spent hours trying to figure out the ending, but nothing came. Time seemed to slip away, a blur of confusion and acceptance. She hated how fast it was all moving, how the clock ticked on relentlessly, while she was stuck trying to piece together a life that felt like it was unraveling too fast.
Her thoughts kept drifting back to her health, to the heavy weight in her chest that seemed to settle deeper with every breath. She didn't want to die. But she had Googled her condition, and it wasn't good. The truth hit her like a freight train, but it also felt oddly comforting. Maybe it was better to know, to face it head-on instead of running from it. But she wasn't ready for that yet-not ready to accept the end.
As the hours stretched on, frustration gnawed at her. She stared at her screen, typing a few words only to delete them seconds later. Her phone buzzed, and she saw another message from Marcus-"Leona, please. I'm worried." He was relentless, always worried.
She rubbed her eyes, letting out a sigh. Enough was enough. She had to get out of here, even if just for a little while. She didn't want to deal with Marcus's concern just yet. So, she decided to go for a walk. A slow stroll in the early hours of the morning before he woke up and started his usual routine of nudging her toward the doctor again.
With her jacket wrapped tight around her, Leona slipped out of the house unnoticed, the cold air hitting her face like a slap, but it was refreshing. The city was quiet at this hour, the streets bathed in soft lamplight, and she could hear the occasional distant honk of a car or the shuffle of someone walking, but it was mostly just her and her thoughts.
She didn't expect to be gone long-just enough time to clear her head, to breathe without the pressure. The soft rhythm of her steps on the pavement was grounding, a break from the constant cycle of worry and illness that had been weighing her down for months now. Maybe, she thought, she could get some clarity. Maybe this was what she needed-space.
Meanwhile, across town, Tristan had been up for hours. He had set his alarm early, intending to get a run in before the day officially began. His body was still adjusting to his new routine, one that involved less of his usual high-paced work and more running, more breathing. It felt good to be out of the office, to be outside for once, moving instead of sitting behind a desk or operating on another patient. The hospital had a way of swallowing up your life, and for the first time in a while, he felt like he had a bit of his own time.
His phone buzzed in his pocket, and without breaking stride, he pulled it out and answered the call, holding it up to his ear.
"Tristan Hale," he said, his voice a little breathless from the run.
"Tristan, it's Greg," came the voice on the other end-his lawyer. "We need to finalize the details for the company acquisition. The board is getting impatient, and we're still waiting on your official sign-off."
Tristan grimaced, pulling his hoodie tighter around him as he passed a row of parked cars. "Greg, I've told you before, I'm not interested in the company. I'm focused on my research. The whole point of my move here was to concentrate on the work that matters, not chasing after some multimillion-dollar business deal."
Greg let out an exaggerated sigh, one Tristan could almost hear over the phone. "I get that, but you've got a stake in this company, and it's not something you can just walk away from."
Tristan exhaled deeply. "I'm not walking away. I'm just saying we should start exploring the option of selling. I'm more interested in groundbreaking research than making money from a corporate boardroom."
Greg wasn't convinced. "Right. But you know as well as I do that research doesn't pay itself."
Tristan couldn't help but roll his eyes. "I've got a research fund, Greg. I don't need a fortune to keep the lab running."
"Fine. Fine. But we'll need that signature soon, or I'm going to have to let you know how much we're losing." Greg paused. "I'm just saying, Tristan-there's a balance to be struck here."
Tristan didn't have the energy for it, so he hung up without saying another word. It wasn't that he didn't care about the business side of things-it was just that it was a distraction from what really mattered to him. His research, his work in cardiology, was what got him up in the morning. Not stock portfolios or bottom lines.
As he slowed his pace, he found his thoughts wandering, wondering if the woman from the bar-the one he couldn't stop thinking about-was out there somewhere. It seemed strange how a brief encounter could have such an impact on him. It wasn't like he was some guy who needed to find someone to fill some empty space in his life. He didn't do relationships. But there was something about her, something that made him pause and think.
Just as he turned a corner, he froze. There she was, standing by a lamppost, her back to him, looking up at the sky.
It couldn't be her, could it?
His heart skipped a beat. He approached slowly, not wanting to spook her, but as he got closer, he realized she was the same woman-the one who'd been dancing on the jukebox just days ago. The woman with the soft smile, the way she moved as if nothing in the world mattered.
She hadn't noticed him yet, and Tristan wasn't sure if he should introduce himself again, considering their awkward first encounter. But there she was, alone in the stillness of the early morning, her head tilted slightly as if she were lost in thought.
He took a deep breath, finding the courage to approach.
"Excuse me," he called out, his voice softer than he intended. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to intrude, but I think I've seen you before. At that place with the jukebox, you were... dancing, right?"
She turned to face him, her smile catching the light of the lamppost. Her eyes were warm, brown, and inviting, and Tristan found himself suddenly at a loss for words.
"That's me," she said with a little laugh, her voice light and easy. "I didn't think I'd bump into you again. Small world, huh?"
"You could say that," Tristan replied, a nervous chuckle escaping his lips. "I wasn't expecting to run into you here. It's a little... surreal."
"Well, I do have a habit of making unexpected appearances," she teased, giving him a mischievous smile.
He found himself smiling back. "I'm Tristan, by the way."
"Leona," she said, holding out her hand. "Nice to meet you properly."
"Leona," he repeated, tasting the name on his tongue. It suited her. He didn't know what had brought her here or why she seemed so familiar to him, but something in the way she held herself made him want to know more. "I didn't expect to find you here so early.
Leona shrugged, looking down at the sidewalk. "Sometimes, the best way to clear your head is to just walk it off, you know? Especially when you're trying to figure out how to finish a novel that's been stuck in your head for months."
Tristan smiled. "Sounds like you've been busy with that."
"You could say that," she said, her voice becoming quieter, more introspective. "Trying to find a way to end it... but time is running out, I guess."
He didn't know why, but the sadness in her tone made his heart ache. He wasn't sure if it was just a passing moment or something deeper, but he wanted to help.
"You know," Tristan said, stepping a little closer, "sometimes the best endings are the ones you don't expect."
Leona raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "You're talking about my novel, right?"
"Maybe. Or maybe I'm talking about life." He smiled softly. "But you've got to let yourself see it through first."