Selene's POV
The hospital corridor hummed with the familiar rhythm of beeping monitors and whispered footsteps. I adjusted my scrubs, tied my hair tighter, and glanced at the time.
11:38 PM.
Another night shift. Another wave of sleepless hours ahead.
My feet moved on instinct, but my heart? It ached—just a little. Not from exhaustion, but from absence.
It had been seven days since I last saw Antonio.
Seven days without that smug grin sliding across his face when he caught me staring. Seven days without the way he pulled me closer like gravity wasn't enough. Seven days since his lips pressed a promise onto my forehead.
But life had other plans. My night shifts rolled in just as his calendar exploded with investor meets, back-to-back negotiations, and one trip out of town that lasted too long.
Still, we found ways.
Ways to hold on.
10:03 PM — [Antonio]: "Boardroom is full of fossils. Send help."
10:05 PM — [Me]: "I'll prescribe patience and send a virtual kiss. Take two every hour."
He never failed to text me before a big meeting. I never failed to reply—even if I had a patient in the next room.
Voice notes. Missed calls. Late-night "I miss you" stickers.
We stitched ourselves to each other with technology and tenderness.
Sometimes, I'd hear his sleepy voice just before I scrubbed in.
"Don't overdo it, firefly. Get some sleep between miracles."
Other nights, I'd leave voice notes just before dawn.
"You better eat today. I'm serious. No espresso-only diet."
There was one message I replayed more than I should have:
"Every deal I close, I think of you. You're the best one I ever made."
It wasn't perfect. It wasn't warm arms or forehead kisses. But it was something. It was enough—for now.
Because I knew he'd show up again.
And when he did, we'd close the distance like we always did—with fingertips that remembered, lips that promised, and hearts that never stopped syncing.
Until then, I returned to the quiet glow of hospital lights…
waiting for the next message.
Or the next heartbeat that felt like his name.
1:12 AM
Antonio: "What do you call a firefly who steals hearts and doesn't return them?"
Me: "A thief in love?"
Antonio: "No. A Selene."
I stared at the message for longer than I should've. A soft smile crept to my lips even as exhaustion pooled in my bones. I was slumped against the wall outside the ICU, sipping lukewarm tea. My fingers ached. My feet begged for rest. But my heart? It fluttered.
Me: "You're getting worse at flirting."
Antonio: "Worse? Babe, I'm already planning our retirement in the Maldives."
Me: "You better show up first before planning my future."
Antonio: "Noted. Countdown: 3…"
I blinked. Wait, what?
Antonio: "2…"
No way.
Antonio: "1…"
The hospital door swung open down the hallway.
And there he was.
Dressed in a navy hoodie, a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and sleep still clinging to his eyes—but he was real. Not a message. Not a voice note. Not a dream.
My breath caught.
"Surprise," he said, voice low, boyish.
I stood frozen, tea forgotten in my hand.
"You idiot," I whispered, half-laughing, half-choking.
I walked, then ran. And when our bodies collided, everything fell away—the beeping machines, the scent of antiseptic, the weight of the week.
He wrapped his arms around me like he never wanted to let go. And I clung to him like I never would again.
"Why didn't you tell me?" I murmured into his shoulder.
"Because I missed seeing that look on your face," he said. "The one where you forget how tired you are."
My eyes brimmed, and I tucked my face into his chest.
Even in the fluorescent glow of a hospital hallway, love had found its warmest place again.