Page 6

“Earth to Ellie?” Naomi’s voice cuts through my spiral. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, babe.”

I blink hard, eyes glued to the file. “Sorry. Just… spaced out a bit. Sleep deprivation.”

She narrows her eyes, clearly doesn’t buy it, but lets it slide.

I glance down again at the clipboard, mouth dry. This is a joke, it has to be, some cosmic piss-take. Out of all the hospitals in the country, out of all the shifts I could be working, he walks into this one. Now.

I stare toward the bay, pulse roaring in my ears.

I stop outside the curtain, gripping the file, heart thudding like it’s trying to claw its way out of my chest. My fingers hover.

Hesitate. The rational part of me scrambles for a loophole.

Maybe it’s not him, maybe it’s just some harmless, weird coincidence.

I take a breath. One of those steady, clinical ones we’re trained to walk patients through.

In through the nose, out through the mouth.

It barely scratches the surface.

My stomach flips as my mind sprints ahead, conjuring every version of who could be behind this curtain.

I pull it back. And there he is.

Kieran Hayes.

Slouched on the gurney like it’s his natural habitat, scrolling on his phone with his good hand.

Older now. Sharper. More stubble along his jaw, hair shorter but still defiant, messy in that way that always looked deliberate.

He’s in ripped jeans and a faded band tee, effortless, like he’s just wandered off a stage and into triage.

But it’s the eyes that get me. And when they meet mine, the air thickens.

Recognition moves across his face, soft and sure, like sunlight spilling into a locked room. His mouth tilts into that smile. The one that used to undo me in a single look.

“Hey, you,” he says. Voice low and rough. Familiar. Like no time has passed.

And just like that, the floor tilts beneath me. My mouth opens. Closes. For a second, I forget what the English language is.

Then instinct kicks in. I straighten my spine, snap back into nurse mode, and grip professionalism like a shield. Because if I let it slip for even a second, I’ll shatter.

“Mr. Hayes,” I say, the words tasting wrong in my mouth. “I’m Ellie, and I’ll be your nurse today. Is it alright if I remove this bandage to examine the wound?”

He raises an eyebrow. “Mr. Hayes, huh?” His lips twitch as if he’s trying not to laugh. “Kinda formal. I think I like it.” Then, softer, less amused now: “This how we’re doing this, then? Ells ?”

The nickname hits like a slap and a whisper all at once.

God .

I freeze. Just for a second. Long enough for him to catch the flicker in my expression, the heat rushing to my skin. That name has passed no one’s lips but his. It belongs to him. It belonged to the girl I was when I was with him.

I clear my throat, holding his gaze just long enough to make it neutral. “Unless you’d prefer another nurse, I’ll be the one treating you tonight.”

He leans back against the pillow, phone forgotten, eyes locked on mine. “Oh, I think I’d rather have you.”

I say nothing. Just focus on the bandage. My fingers are shaking more than I’d like, but I move with the same careful precision I’ve practiced a hundred times, like muscle memory might hold me together if nothing else.

I keep my eyes on the wound and can feel him watching me as I wipe blood with a sterile cloth. My hands are steady. My mind? Anything but.

The skin around the cut is red and a little inflamed. Superficial but messy. “How did this happen?” My voice remains clinical and detached.

He shrugs. “Had an altercation with a beer bottle.”

A small smile tugs at the corner of my mouth before I can stop it. I dab on antiseptic, checking for any glass. Focusing on the task.

“So, you did it huh?” he says, voice soft.

I place two Steri-Strips over the wound. “Still a student. I qualify in two months.” My voice comes out clipped. Automatic.

He nods slowly, lips curving. “Looks good on you. The scrubs. Total cliché, but… it works.”

I glance up just long enough to catch the spark in his eyes.

He leans back again like he owns the room.

“You smell the same,” he says.

The words crawl under my skin. He shouldn’t remember that. He shouldn’t notice. It’s been four years.

“Careful,” I say, defaulting to a grin. “Might start thinking you missed me.”

His smile deepens. “Wouldn’t want that getting out.”

“Still a smart-ass, I see.”

“Only around you.”

The old rhythm slips into place like it never left. Witty, warm, and stupidly effortless. It takes me off guard how easy it is to fall back into being that girl. The one who joked. Who flirted without overthinking.

And just as quickly, the guilt sweeps in.

I straighten slightly, tone shifting. “You’re bleeding and in hospital,” I say, trying (and failing) to sound stern. “This isn’t the time to flirt.”

He shrugs. Unbothered. “I’d argue it’s the perfect time. Life’s short, Ellie. And you were always fun to flirt with.”

I roll my eyes, clearing the trolley with hands that don’t quite behave. The silence that follows stretches taut.

Then I drop a gauze. It slips from my fingers and flutters to the floor. I mutter something under my breath, bend down at the same time he does, and we both reach for it.

Our hands brush. And just like that, I’m frozen. His fingers close over my hand, but he doesn’t let go. Doesn’t move. His eyes find mine, steadier than I expect, searching. And for a second, the rest of the room disappears.

“Where did you go, Ellie?” The question isn’t sharp. It’s quiet. Careful, even. But it hits like a thunderclap.

I swallow against the heat rising in my throat. “It was a long time ago, Kieran.”

His gaze doesn’t shift. “Doesn’t mean it didn’t matter.”

I clear my throat, step back, and give us both the space we suddenly need. “Sometimes a moment’s all you get,” I whisper. “You can’t ask for more than it’s willing to give.”

The silence stretches again, full of everything neither of us is saying.

“You made walking away look easy.” His voice is soft now. No edge. No smirk. Just the weight of something real.

I almost laugh. Easy ? If only he knew.

But what’s the point in revisiting any of it now? The why, the when, the mess of it all. In a few minutes, I’ll be gone, just like I was before.

Another shift. Another patient. Another version of him I’ll file away. I take a step back, reset my shoulders, and rebuild the distance.

“You’re all set, Mr. Hayes,” I say, voice neutral. “Keep the Steri-Stips on, keep the area clean and dry.”

I pause, just for a breath. “My mentor will be over shortly to double check everything, so sit tight.” No warmth, no room for interpretation. Just the mask, the boundary. The need to get out now .

He watches me. Says nothing at first. Then, simply: “Thank you, Ellie.” The words are soft. Weighted.

I nod and turn to go. Fingers curling slightly at my sides.

But then…

“Tell the girl in all the colours,” he says behind me, his voice lower now. “The one who used to dance like no one was watching…”

A pause. Long enough to make my breath hitch.

The words dig into something soft inside me—the girl he’s talking about doesn’t feel real anymore. She’s all but vanished beneath sleep deprivation, and the type of existence that doesn’t leave room for dancing.

But he saw her.

Even back then, when I didn’t think anyone was really looking.

My throat goes tight.

I don’t turn around.

Then, softly, he continues. “I’m still here. If she ever wants to finish what we started.”

I stop. The words crashing over me.

But I don’t look back. I can’t. I step into the corridor, breath snagged in my chest like a trap, and the second the curtain falls behind me, everything feels too bright. Like someone turned the sun up a few notches and forgot to dial it back down.

The lights are still buzzing overhead, stuttering like they’re short-circuiting just to spite me. The sound scrapes along my skin, worms its way into my skull, louder now, relentless. “ Seriously ,” I snap at no one in particular. “Can we please get maintenance to fix these bloody lights?”

A few heads turn. I don’t realise how fast I’m moving until I nearly take out a trolley. A junior doctor glances up, startled. I mutter a half-hearted sorry and keep walking.

My name echoes behind me, Naomi probably, but it doesn’t register properly. Everything sounds like it’s underwater. Muffled and distant.

I can’t breathe.

My chest tightens like someone’s winding rope around my ribs and pulling, inch by inch.

My pulse thuds in my ears, and the hallway tilts slightly, narrowing around me.

Get it together.

I make it to the back room where they dump bedpans and store half-empty bottles of cleaning fluids. I push the door open harder than I mean to and lean against the cold tile wall. The smell of disinfectant hits like a slap, but the air in here is cooler.

Breathe.

But the air won’t come right. My chest lifts in shallow bursts, like I’m sucking oxygen through a straw.

Not now.

Not here.

My hands tremble. Fingers twitching with that warning burn. That familiar flicker that says I’m about to lose it.

He was here. Not just a name on a file. He was here. Flesh and blood. Grin and memory. Four years gone in an instant. And it’s like no time has passed at all.

What the hell is wrong with me?

The walls feel like they’re pressing in. My knees threaten to fold. My vision blurs at the edges, dark spots swimming.

“Ellie?” A voice cuts through the static.

I flinch and turn my head slightly. Naomi. She smells like jasmine and sugar. Her perfume slices through the bleach and panic. She’s beside me in an instant. One hand on my shoulder. The other brushing my hair back from my damp forehead.

“Hey. Look at me.” Her voice is soft but anchored. Steady. “I’ve got you, alright?”

I try to nod. I Can’t.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs, gently guiding me down onto the closed lid of a bin. She kneels in front of me, fingers warm and sure as they wrap around mine. “I’ve got you, Ellie. I’ve got you.”

And finally.

I breathe.