Days passed and slowly Lily started gaining her stance, work has been going pretty well although it was hectic, but at least its more than nothing, she would say to herself.
Soon, she started handling deliveries. The delivery job was supposed to be temporary. Just enough to scrape by, to keep the electricity on, to put something cheap and edible in the fridge.
Lily hadn't planned on staying long but nights had a funny way of swallowing plans whole.
She took the night shifts no one else wanted, the rain-soaked, bone-tired hours where the city felt like a forgotten thing, breathing shallowly under neon lights and endless concrete.
The hospital was one of her regular runs.
It wasn't glamorous, dropping off bags of lukewarm soup or cheap sandwiches to nurses who barely looked up from their charts, or to family members sitting rigid and broken in waiting rooms that smelled like bleach and sadness.
She didn't mind. There was something almost... peaceful about hospitals at night.
The hum of machines.
The low murmur of voices.
The soft beep of monitors that marked time in heartbeats.
It was better than the silence of her room, anyway. Far better than the memories she couldn't outrun.
Tonight, the rain had lessened to a cold drizzle, the streets slick and shining under the glow of the streetlights.
She pushed open the heavy glass doors to the hospital lobby, the bag of food cradled carefully in her arms.
The lobby was mostly empty, just a few scattered souls hunched in chairs, a security guard sipping coffee, a nurse pushing a mop listlessly across the floor.
Lily made her way to the front desk, boots squeaking faintly against the tile.
She was tired, deeper than tired, a weariness that lived in her bones now.
The kind of tired that made the world blur at the edges.
She barely registered the figure exiting the elevator until it was too late.
Until he was there.
Him.
The man from the café.
The man from the car.
He wasn't just a memory anymore.
He was real and solid, striding across the marble floor like he belonged to another world entirely, a world of sharp edges and secrets and storm-colored eyes.
He wore a dark suit, tailored and expensive, but somehow, he still looked out of place, too wild, too raw, like the clothes couldn't quite tame him.
He was looking down, fiddling with something in his hand, a leather glove, when Lily stepped into his path.
Their collision was soft, but it was enough.
The bag slipped from her numb fingers, thudding against the floor.
Containers jostled and shifted inside, the unmistakable slosh of something spilling.
She gasped, dropping to her knees without thinking, trying to salvage the mess.
And then
He knelt too.
Right there in front of her, without hesitation.
For a moment, the world narrowed down to just the two of them again, knees brushing the floor, hands fumbling over the same broken things.
Their fingers met, not just brushing, but pressing, connecting. His hand lingered against hers.
It was warm compared to her's. Lily froze.
She should have pulled away.
She should have said something, an apology, a thank you, anything. But her voice had abandoned her. So had her breath.
She looked up, and he was already looking at her.
Their faces were close now, too close, shadows and fluorescent lights playing across his features.
There was a scar, she noticed, just below his jawline. A thin white line like a secret he didn't want to tell.
His eyes weren't cold tonight.
They were something worse, something that saw too much, that stripped her down to the marrow and didn't flinch.
His thumb brushed against her knuckles, the faintest, most deliberate touch.
It wasn't an accident.
Neither of them spoke, neither of them moved.
The hospital buzzed and breathed around them, machines, footsteps, voices but it was all far away.
There was only this moment.
This electric, fragile thing between them.
Finally, Adrian's hand closed around the spilled bag.
Slowly, he stood, offering it back to her without a word.
Lily took it with shaking fingers, the plastic crinkling loudly between them.
Still, they didn't speak but their eyes locked, two strangers tied together by invisible, unbreakable threads.
He hesitated for half a second longer, like he wanted to say something, like he might.
Then he turned, sharp and graceful, and walked away.
Not a glance back.
Not a word.
Just the echo of his footsteps fading into the sterile hum of the hospital.
Lily stood there, clutching the ruined bag to her chest, heart hammering so hard it hurt.
The food was ruined.
The delivery was ruined.
She should have been panicking, apologizing, fixing it.
But all she could do was watch him disappear into the night again.
Like he had never been there at all. Except she knew he had been.
Because she could still feel the weight of his hand against hers.
Still feel the silent storm brewing in the space he left behind.
And somehow, deep down, she knew that this wasn't over.