The OR was a symphony of sound and movement—monitors beeping, suction humming, footsteps purposeful. Naya stood scrubbed in, hands gloved and steady. But her heart wasn't. Because opposite her, commanding the operating table with his usual ice-calm focus, was Nian.
The patient was critical—a vehicular trauma with massive internal bleeding.
"Clamp," Nian barked, voice low but sharp.
Naya passed the instrument swiftly. Their fingers brushed. A charge zipped up her arm.
She hated how aware she was of him in scrubs. How his voice reached into her like a memory she hadn't filed away properly. How, even now, with a life literally on the table, part of her brain was wondering if he could feel her pulse through the gloves.
They worked in sync. Flawlessly, if you asked the others in the room.
But inside? Naya was a battlefield.
When the surgery ended and the patient stabilized, applause broke out among the interns.
"That was textbook," one whispered. "A masterclass."
Naya peeled off her gloves, adrenaline still coursing. She stepped out to the staff changing room, expecting relief.
Instead, she found Nian waiting.
He was leaning against the wall, arms crossed. Watching her.
She halted. "What are you doing here?"
He took a breath, slow and measured. "You're angry."
"Angry?" she laughed, short and bitter. "No. I'm professional. I came here to work."
He stepped closer. "Then why do your hands shake after we touch?"
"They don't."
He reached for her hand, deliberately slow, and placed it against his chest.
His heartbeat thundered beneath her palm.
"You think I left Juba because I wanted to?" he asked, voice rough. "You think I forgot you?"
She yanked her hand back. "You disappeared. No goodbye. Not a message. You kissed me and vanished like it meant nothing."
"It meant everything," he said. "That night… I didn't sleep, Naya. I thought about you for months. And when they sent me back to China, I tried to contact you. The hospital system locked me out. I asked about you. No one knew where you'd gone."
"And now you're here. Just like that."
He stepped even closer, and now there was no room to hide.
"I'm here. And I'm not going anywhere this time."
Later that evening.
Naya opened her apartment door to find Nian standing there. Again.
He was holding a box of takeout and a bottle of red wine.
"You said you hated hospital food," he said with a grin that felt like mischief.
She stared at him for a long moment. Then stepped aside.
Inside, her small two-roomed apartment was tidy but lived-in. Medical journals stacked on the coffee table. An anatomy chart pinned near her study desk.
"Nice place," he murmured. "Very you."
"And what's that supposed to mean?"
"Structured. Sharp. Beautiful."
She ignored him and moved to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses.
Dinner was warm, the wine richer than she expected, and his presence… distracting. They sat close. Closer than they should have.
"Tell me something true," she whispered. "Like you did that night."
His eyes found hers.
"I've wanted to kiss you since you walked into that operating room."
Her breath caught. "You're just saying that."
"No. I'm not."
He reached out, fingers brushing her cheek, then tucking a curl behind her ear. His touch was reverent. Like he didn't want to break her. Like he knew how many fractures she already had.
Her voice shook. "You don't get to waltz back into my life and act like nothing happened."
"But something is happening."
She tried to argue. She really did.
But then he leaned in.
His lips hovered a whisper from hers. His hand cupped her jaw. Her skin tingled under his touch, every nerve standing at attention. His breath fanned across her lips.
And then..
A buzz.
Her phone lit up with an emergency hospital alert.
She pulled back, breathless, heart thundering like a war drum.
"I have to go," she whispered.
Nian's hand lingered at her neck. "This isn't over."
"No. It's just starting."
She grabbed her coat and keys, but not before glancing back at him once.
He stood in her doorway, shadows clinging to his cheekbones, wine glass still in hand, and eyes full of every word they hadn't said yet.
Whatever they were… it wasn't done.
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To be continued...