~Eliana~
I walked briskly toward the bathroom, the steady click of my heels against the tiled floor the only sound in the otherwise silent hallway. I needed a moment alone—to gather my thoughts and regain control.
Inside, I braced my hands against the cool granite sink and inhaled deeply. Even with the door closed, I could still feel the weight of Jamal's gaze on my skin, like a ghostly touch lingering long after he was gone. Something wasn't right.
Why did his stare affect me so deeply?
I clenched my jaw, forcing the thought away. But no matter how hard I tried, my mind kept circling back to him—his courage, his vulnerability, his passion. Was that what drew me in? Or was it something deeper, something I couldn't name?
What's happening to me?
I leaned against the sink, gripping the porcelain edge to steady myself. I was a scientist, not some lovesick high school girl. I had a crisis to focus on, a genomorph to contain. This… this feeling was reckless. I had to suppress it.
Eliana, keep it together.
I exhaled sharply and turned to the mirror. My reflection stared back, eyes wide with uncertainty. Then another thought crept in—one I hadn't even realized until now.
I had never seen Jamal without his glasses before.
His eyes… had they always been that striking? Long lashes, a mix of reddish-brown, deeper than I imagined. My fingers twitched at the memory. How could a man's lashes be longer than mine?
I shook my head. Stop it, Eliana.
"Wait… Jamal. That name—it sounds Jamaican, but he's Nigerian. Right?"
My mind raced, trying to recall where I'd heard it before. A Jamaican tale—Shimmering Sea, maybe? I should probably ask him.
I nearly laughed at myself. What am I even thinking? I can't just ask him that. I shouldn't be indulging this.
I squared my shoulders, exhaling.
I am Dr. Eliana Ximena Halladey, an aspiring genetic epidemiologist. This is not a part of the plan. This cannot be my reality.
Straightening my lab coat, I stepped out of the bathroom, my heels clicking against the tile with renewed purpose. I adjusted my posture, keeping my expression neutral. I would not let anyone see my distraction—especially not Jamal.
As I reached my workstation, my fingers twitched with the familiar urge to analyze, to dissect, to understand. I forced my focus on the genomorph, letting data drown out every other thought.
This crisis needs my attention. Not him.
I cleared my throat. "Steve, adjust the NBCR's field strength. We've got work to do. Jamal, write a new program to adjust—"
Steve interrupted, concern in his voice. "Hey, Doc, are you okay? You look a bit shaken."
I forced a smile. "I'm fine. Just preoccupied with the genomorph. We have to make progress, and fast. Jamal, back to work."
Jamal nodded, his eyes meeting mine for a split second before he turned back to his computer. My heart stuttered. I swallowed hard and buried myself in research, pushing the unwanted thoughts away.
Hours blurred together in a storm of calculations and equations. Then—finally—a breakthrough.
"I've got it!"
I snatched up the printout, excitement overriding my exhaustion. "This model predicts we can slow the genomorph's mutation rate by introducing an inhibitor protein!"
Steve frowned, eyes narrowing at the numbers. "Doc, are you sure? These calculations are based on old blood samples from Jamal and me, from when it attacked hours ago. We don't know how much the genomorph has mutated since then."
I lifted my chin. He had a point, but I was certain. "I'm sure, Steven. When have I ever not been?"
Jamal's fingers hovered over the keyboard, waiting for confirmation.
"Jamal, synthesize the inhibitor."
Minutes passed. The inhibitor was ready.
Standing before the genomorph's containment chamber, my pulse hammered in my ears. This was it. The moment of truth.
I injected the inhibitor into the chamber's feeder system, watching as the aerosolized compound dispersed into the air. Silence followed. Three minutes passed. Nothing.
The genomorph just stood there, unmoving, as if taunting me.
Then—suddenly—a flicker of movement. The NBCR trembled.
The genomorph wavered, struggling against an invisible force. Its movements slowed, its iridescent sheen fading.
"It's working."
I breathed out, hardly daring to believe it. Relief washed over me. For the first time in hours, my mind was free from distraction. No more thoughts of Jamal. Just science.
And then—of course—he had to speak.
"Damn. You did it."
His voice was low, almost a whisper.
I turned slightly, expecting more, but that was all he said. Just that simple, quiet praise.
And yet… why did it make my heart lurch?
"We did it," I corrected, my voice softer than intended. A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it. "We did it together."
Steve whooped, pumping his fist in the air. I high-fived Michelle, the excitement filling the room.
For a moment, we were just scientists celebrating a breakthrough. Nothing more. Nothing out of the ordinary.
But then… I caught myself looking at Jamal again.
Had he always been this muscular?
My gaze lingered too long, tracing the curve of his arms beneath his leather jacket. The dark silver trousers fit him well, cinched at the waist by a Versace Eros belt. The crisp white Louis Vuitton T-shirt underneath framed his build perfectly.
Then my eyes locked onto his.
His reddish-brown eyes.
Wait. Were they red? Or brown? Had they always looked like that?
I swallowed hard. When did I start noticing the color of his eyes?
Oh.
He wasn't wearing his glasses.
Jamal never took them off. But now… now I could see him fully. And he was staring right back at me.
My breath hitched.
I should look away. I needed to look away.
But I couldn't.
We stood there, locked in place, as realization crashed over me.
I had fallen in love with my best friend.
Jamal.