"I know I have no right to interfere," Dr. Clara broke the silence between us. "But I'm also Lucas' friend, and anyone close to him is a friend of mine too."
We were in the hospital's secluded garden, a place where patients could breathe in fresh air. There was a small playground and benches for people to sit and unwind.
From watching the children play, I turned to look at her.
"Like I told you earlier, he has changed a lot, and I know it's because of you. And I also know that the way he's acting now—you are the reason behind it."
I swallowed hard, shifting my gaze to the iced latte in my hands, feeling its coldness against my skin, wishing it could seep into my entire body and numb the chaos inside me.
"I decided to avoid him for now," I admitted. "Everything feels too heavy. I feel suffocated, trapped. I can’t think, I can’t function properly when he’s around."
"But you love him?"
"Yes," I answered instantly. Because I do. I love him deeply—more than I should, more than what is probably good for me.
"Then why are you making him suffer?"
Her question struck me like a dagger, sharp and unrelenting. I looked at her, stunned, as pain shot through me like an open wound being pressed too hard.
She let out a quiet laugh, still not meeting my gaze. "You’re hurting him. Like you said, you made a decision—but what about him?" This time, she turned to face me, her expression firm and unwavering. "He doesn’t know anything. Your reasons are valid, but he deserves to hear them from you. So he knows where he stands. Communication, Vivienne."
Her words haunted me long after we left the garden. Guilt wrapped itself around my chest, suffocating me. She was right—I had been unfair, selfish even, for keeping Lucas in the dark.
It felt like I had just woken up from a daze.
As the wind shifted and the sky darkened slightly, we decided to head back to the hospital.
If I got the chance to see Lucas later, I would tell him.
But what exactly was I supposed to say?
That I feel crushed under the weight of his expectations? That the idea of marriage terrifies me? That I’m avoiding him because I feel like I’m ruining his reputation, like my presence is becoming a stain on his perfect image? That I can’t focus on my upcoming licensure exam with him always lingering so close?
I didn’t know how to start. I didn’t know if I had the strength to.
But I didn’t want to be selfish anymore. I couldn’t keep being selfish.
Before I could fully process my thoughts, I saw him.
I was sitting on a bench near the vending machine, still in my scrubs, while he stood there in a different outfit.
Lucas was wearing a white long-sleeved polo, the top three buttons undone, his ID clip hanging loosely from his pocket.
His presence was heavy, dark—like the thick clouds rolling in at dusk. There was a storm brewing in his eyes, one that threatened to pull me under.
As he approached, his expression softened slightly, but the tension in his aura remained, thick and suffocating.
My throat tightened. Every word I had prepared disappeared.
He stopped a short distance from me, shoving one hand into his pocket, leaving an intentional space between us.
"You finally decided to talk to me, miss?"
Say something, Vivienne. Anything.
"Look, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way…"
"Why have you been avoiding me?"
His voice was cold, sharp—demanding an answer I wasn’t ready to give.
"You know I’m preparing for my licensure exam, right?"
"Then let me help you review. Is that all?"
"You don’t understand, Lucas. I'm getting distracted."
"I'm a distraction to you?"
I froze. The look on his face was something I never wanted to see—pain, disbelief, betrayal.
"If you need space to study, I’ll give it to you. You didn’t have to shut me out."
"I-It’s not just that," I struggled to explain.
"Fuck, Vivienne. You could’ve just told me—"
"It’s not just about that," I cut him off, desperation creeping into my voice. "But please. Just let me go."
“Bullshit!” Lucas spat angrily.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
“Why? Did I do something wrong? Please, Vivienne, don’t just leave me hanging without a good reason.”
"I want to end this."
Even I was shocked by the words that came out of my mouth. Fear and regret washed over me. I wanted to take them back. I was so stupid—this shouldn’t have ended up like this. But there was nothing I could do anymore. I had already said what I shouldn’t have, and now, I had no choice but to stand by it—for both of our sakes.
Being with him feels like trying to hold onto something slipping through my fingers—something too vast, too overwhelming. Lucas is that something. He is too much for me, too much of everything I can’t grasp. And I am drowning in the weight of who he is, in everything he has already achieved, while I’m still struggling to find my own footing. No matter how much I love him, I can’t ignore the space between us—the gap in where we are in life, in what we want, in what we’re ready for.
Every time I look at him, I see someone so certain, so grounded in his place in the world. And then there’s me—lost, uncertain, nowhere near that level of certainty. I feel like an anchor, holding him back, keeping him from moving toward where he’s meant to be. He’ll never say it, but I know it. I see it in the way he looks at me, in the way he tries so hard to make me feel like I belong in his world. But I don’t.
I never wanted to compare myself to him. But I do. And it’s destroying me.
He’s already standing at the finish line, waiting for me to catch up, but I’m still here—wanting to explore the path, unsure if I even want to reach the same destination. And marriage? It terrifies me. Not because I don’t love him, but because it feels like a door closing before I’ve even had the chance to see what else is out there.
And I hate myself for saying this—for breaking him apart when all he’s ever done is put me first.
But for once, I have to think about him. About what’s best for him. Even if it means destroying what we have.
Even if it means shattering myself in the process.
Lucas remained standing in front of me, his expression unreadable. He wasn’t shocked, but his eyes… his eyes held devastation.
I forced my trembling hands to wipe away the tears that kept spilling before standing up.
I couldn’t wait for him to respond.
Because if he did—if he begged, if he fought, if he so much as said my name in that voice of his—I might not have the strength to walk away.
Lucas didn’t stop me.
He just stood there, silent, unmoving, his hands clenched at his sides like he was trying to keep himself from reaching out.
I forced my feet to move, one step at a time, away from him. Away from the warmth I had grown so used to, away from the presence that had become my comfort, my home. Every step felt heavier, like chains were wrapped around my ankles, dragging me down.
But I kept walking.
I had to.
I didn’t hear him call my name. I didn’t hear him demand an explanation.
I had expected anger. A sharp retort. A bitter laugh. But there was nothing.
And somehow, that silence hurt more than anything he could’ve said.
By the time I walked away, leaving behind the place where Lucas stood, following the path lined with plants and flowers, the night air hit me like a cruel reminder of reality. The sky was a deep, suffocating gray, heavy with the promise of rain. My legs carried me on autopilot, past the familiar path leading to the café.
I didn’t intend to go there, but my body moved on instinct, seeking even the smallest sliver of familiarity in this mess I had created.
And that’s when I saw him.
Noah.
He was just stepping out of the café, a cup of coffee in one hand, his other stuffed casually in his coat pocket. He was looking down at something on his phone, oblivious to the world—until he wasn’t.
The second his gaze lifted and met mine, his entire expression shifted.
“Vivienne?”
I froze.
I must’ve looked terrible—eyes red-rimmed, face pale, barely holding myself together. Because in an instant, Noah’s casual stance disappeared, replaced by something sharper, something more alert.
“What happened?” His voice was steady but laced with quiet concern.
I shook my head, willing myself to pull it together. “It’s nothing.”
“Viv.” He took a step closer. “You’re crying.”
I opened my mouth, but no words came out. I didn’t even know how to explain what just happened.
Noah exhaled, reaching into his pocket. “Here.” He handed me a pack of tissues, his gaze never leaving my face. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I hesitated.
Talking meant acknowledging everything. Talking meant making it real.
And I wasn’t sure if I could handle that yet.
So I shook my head. “Not now.”
He didn’t push. He just nodded, his usual easygoing demeanor replaced with something gentler, more understanding.
“Alright,” he said. “Then let’s go.”
I blinked. “Go where?”
“Anywhere but here.” He tilted his head toward the street. “You need a breather.”
I wanted to argue, to say I was fine, that I had things to do.
But I was so tired.
Tired of pretending I wasn’t hurting. Tired of holding back the storm brewing inside me. Tired of carrying the weight of my own choices.
So for the first time in a long while, I let myself be led away.
Even if it was only for a moment.
Noah didn’t ask any more questions as we walked. He just kept pace beside me, sipping his coffee like this was any other night.
The streets were quieter than usual, the distant hum of cars and muffled chatter from nearby establishments filling the air. The rain hadn’t started yet, but the thick clouds above warned it wouldn’t be long.
I didn’t know where we were going, and honestly, I didn’t care.
I just needed to move.
Away from the weight of Lucas’s silence. Away from the ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away no matter how many deep breaths I took.
After a while, we stopped near a small park—a quiet spot with benches and a single streetlamp flickering overhead.
Noah sat first, stretching his legs out and resting his coffee cup on his knee. I hesitated for a second before lowering myself beside him, gripping the edge of the bench like I needed something to ground me.
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then—
“You broke up with him, didn’t you?”
I flinched. My fingers curled against the fabric of my scrubs, gripping them tightly.
Noah wasn’t looking at me, but his voice was steady, certain.
“I saw Lucas earlier,” he continued. “Looked like he was about to punch a hole in the wall at  the time when he couldn't find you.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “Didn’t take a genius to figure out something happened.”
A bitter smile tugged at my lips. Of course, he would know.
I didn’t answer right away. I wasn’t even sure how to.
“I—” My voice cracked. I cleared my throat. “I told him I needed space. That I couldn’t do this anymore.”
Noah nodded slowly, as if processing my words.
Then, finally, he turned his head toward me. “And did that make you feel better?”
I sucked in a breath. My chest tightened, like something was pressing down on it.
No.
It didn’t.
It only made me feel like I had just shattered something I could never piece back together.
But I couldn’t say that.
Not when I was the one who made this choice.
Not when I was the one who walked away.
Noah must’ve seen the turmoil in my expression because he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
“You know,” he said, his tone softer, “I’m not here to tell you what you should’ve done or what you should do next.” He glanced at me. “But, Vivienne… if it hurts this much, are you sure you made the right choice?”
My throat closed up.
I dropped my gaze to my hands, twisting my fingers together as if the motion could stop the trembling.
“I don’t know,” I whispered.
It was the most honest thing I had said all night.
Noah didn’t press for an answer. He just sighed and leaned back against the bench, taking another sip of his coffee.
For a while, we just sat there in silence.
The streetlamp above us flickered weakly, casting a dull glow over the pavement. The distant sound of cars passing by and faint chatter from the coffee shop nearby filled the heavy quiet between us.
I closed my eyes briefly, trying to will away the lump forming in my throat.
I don’t regret my decision.
I told myself that over and over again.
But if that were true, then why did it feel like I had just ripped out a piece of myself?
“Can I ask you something?” Noah’s voice broke through my thoughts.
I nodded numbly, still staring down at my lap.
“Did you break up with him because you don’t love him anymore?”
The question made me freeze.
My fingers clenched. My breathing hitched.
Noah didn’t look at me, his gaze fixed on the distance, waiting.
My lips parted, but no words came out.
Because the answer was painfully clear.
I still love him.
I still love him so much that it hurts.
But love wasn’t enough.
Not when I felt like I was drowning in expectations. Not when I was terrified of the future we were rushing into. Not when the mere thought of marriage, of permanence, made my chest tighten with something I couldn’t explain.
I exhaled shakily and forced a weak chuckle. “Noah, that’s not…” I trailed off, shaking my head. “That’s not the reason.”
He hummed, as if he already knew.
After a moment, he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “You know, Vivienne…” His voice was quieter now, thoughtful. “There’s a difference between being unsure of what you want and being afraid of wanting it.”
I stiffened.
He glanced at me, the dim glow of the streetlamp casting shadows across his face. “Which one is it for you?”
I swallowed hard.
I didn’t answer.
Because I didn’t know.
Or maybe—maybe I did.
And I just didn’t want to admit it.
He just sighed, as if he already expected my silence, and leaned back against the bench.
The distant hum of the city filled the space between us—the occasional honk of a car, muffled laughter from the coffee shop, the rustling of leaves against the cold wind.
I curled my fingers around the edge of my coat, trying to steady my breathing.
I hated this.
I hated how easily he saw through me.
“Sometimes,” Noah murmured, swirling his cup absentmindedly, “we push people away because we think it’s the right thing to do. But what if—” he turned to me, his gaze unreadable “—what if we’re just running from the fact that they might actually stay?”
I flinched.
Because wasn’t that exactly what I was doing?
I forced a hollow laugh, shaking my head. “You make it sound so simple.”
Noah smirked faintly, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “It’s not. But overcomplicating it won’t make it any easier, either.”
I looked away.
I wanted to tell him he was wrong. That he didn’t understand. That it wasn’t just fear—that there were real, tangible reasons why Lucas and I wouldn’t work.
But the words stuck in my throat.
Because deep down, a small, terrifying part of me knew.
I wasn’t just afraid of the future.
I was afraid of what it would mean if I actually wanted it with him.
Noah didn’t speak again. He just let me sit there, drowning in the thoughts I refused to say out loud.
After a long moment, he stood up.
“I’ll walk you home.”
I blinked up at him. “You don’t have to.”
“I know.” He shrugged, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “But I want to.”
I hesitated, then exhaled and got to my feet.
We started walking, side by side, under the glow of streetlights.
The wind was colder now, biting against my skin. Or maybe that was just the emptiness settling in my chest.
Lucas had always walked me home before.
But tonight, he wasn’t here.
And it was my fault.