Jane woke to grey light filtering through the curtains.
She reached for her phone before she even opened her eyes fully.
Unlocked it.
Checked her messages.
Nothing.
No response from Sophia.
Jane's chest tightened.
She sat up slowly, staring at the screen.
The message she'd sent last night—"Can we talk?"—sat there, unread. Or read and ignored.
Jane didn't know which was worse.
She typed another message, her fingers moving carefully.
"I hope you're okay. Just... let me know you're alright?"
She hit send.
Waited.
The message delivered.
But no response.
Jane set the phone down, running a hand through her hair.
Mia stirred in her bed across the room, rolling over to face Jane. "Morning. Any word?"
Jane shook her head. "Nothing."
Mia sat up, rubbing her eyes. "She's probably just processing. Give her time."
"It's been twelve hours."
"Jane—"
"I know." Jane stood, grabbing her towel from the hook. "I just... I thought she'd say something."
Mia watched her with quiet concern. "Maybe she doesn't know what to say."
Jane paused at the bathroom door. "Or maybe she doesn't want to say anything at all."
She disappeared into the bathroom before Mia could respond.
Twenty minutes later, Jane emerged, dressed in jeans and a soft grey sweater, her hair pulled back into a loose ponytail.
She grabbed her bag, slinging it over her shoulder.
Mia was already at her desk, laptop open. "You sure you're okay to go to class?"
"I'm fine."
"You don't look fine."
Jane forced a smile. "I'm fine, Mia."
Mia didn't look convinced, but she didn't push. "Text me if you need anything."
"I will."
Jane stepped out into the hallway, the door closing softly behind her.
The campus was alive with morning energy—students rushing to classes, groups gathered on benches, the coffee cart near the library doing brisk business.
Jane walked through it all in a daze, her phone clutched in her hand, checking it every few minutes.
Still nothing.
She sat through her first lecture barely hearing a word.
The professor's voice was distant, muffled, like she was underwater.
Jane stared at her notebook, pen in hand, the page blank except for the date at the top.
Her phone buzzed.
Her heart leapt.
She grabbed it, unlocking it quickly.
Mia.
"Hang in there. Love you."
Jane's chest ached.
She typed back: "Love you too."
Then locked her phone and tried to focus.
Between classes, Jane sat on a bench near the fountain, eating a granola bar she didn't taste.
A group of students nearby were laughing about something—some inside joke Jane couldn't follow.
She watched them absently, her mind elsewhere.
Why isn't she responding?
Did I push too hard?
Does she regret everything?
A girl from Jane's economics class—Maya—plopped down beside her, grinning. "Hey, stranger. You've been MIA lately. Everything okay?"
Jane blinked, pulling herself back to the present. "Yeah. Just busy."
"Busy or distracted?" Maya's grin widened. "Because you've had that look for like a week now."
"What look?"
"The 'I'm thinking about someone and trying not to smile but also kind of miserable' look."
Jane almost laughed despite herself. "That specific, huh?"
"Oh yeah. I'm an expert." Maya leaned back, studying her. "So who is it? Do I know them?"
"It's... complicated."
"It always is." Maya nudged her gently. "But hey, complicated is better than boring, right?"
Jane smiled faintly. "I guess."
"There you go. See? You can smile." Maya stood, slinging her bag over her shoulder. "Come on. We've got Morrison's lecture in ten minutes. If we're late, he'll make us answer questions, and I did not do the reading."
Jane stood, following her. "You never do the reading."
"Exactly. Which is why I need you to sit next to me and look smart."
Jane laughed—small, genuine.
And for a moment, the weight on her chest lifted.
Just a little.
Sophia moved through her rounds like a ghost.
Her steps were slower than usual. Her responses delayed.
She stood at a patient's bedside, staring at the chart without really seeing it.
"Dr. Whitmore?"
She blinked, looking up. The nurse was watching her with concern.
"Yes?"
"I asked if you wanted to adjust the medication dosage?"
Sophia glanced at the chart again. "Yes. Increase it by ten milligrams."
The nurse nodded, making a note.
Sophia moved on.
But her mind wasn't there.
It was stuck in the rain.
Standing outside Jane's hostel.
Too afraid to go in.
Too ashamed to stay.
She'd driven home soaked, sat in her apartment staring at nothing, and then—
Her phone had buzzed.
Jane's message.
"Can we talk?"
Sophia had stared at it for an hour.
Typed responses. Deleted them.
Yes.
I'm sorry.
I don't know what to say.
I'm terrified.
But nothing felt right.
So she'd said nothing.
And now, another message.
"I hope you're okay. Just... let me know you're alright?"
Sophia's chest ached every time she read it.
But she still hadn't responded.
"Sophia."
She turned.
Clara stood behind her, arms crossed, her expression somewhere between concerned and annoyed.
"Yes?"
Clara stepped closer, her eyes narrowing. "You look terrible."
"Thank you."
"I'm serious." Clara reached out, pressing the back of her hand against Sophia's forehead. "You're burning up."
Sophia pulled back. "I'm fine."
"You're not fine. You're pale, you're sweating, and you've been staring at that chart for five minutes without writing anything down."
Sophia looked down. Clara was right—she hadn't written anything.
"I'm just tired."
"You're sick." Clara's tone left no room for argument. "When's the last time you slept?"
Sophia didn't answer.
"Sophia."
"I don't remember."
Clara sighed, taking the chart from Sophia's hands. "That's it. You're taking a break."
"I have patients—"
"I'll cover. Go to the lounge. Sit down. Drink water. And for the love of God, take some medicine."
"Clara—"
"Not negotiable." Clara's expression softened. "You're no good to anyone like this. Go."
Sophia wanted to argue.
But she was so, so tired.
She nodded.
Clara squeezed her shoulder gently. "And Sophia? Whatever's going on... you don't have to carry it alone."
Sophia's throat tightened.
She nodded again, then turned and walked toward the staff lounge.
The lounge was empty.
Sophia sank onto the couch, closing her eyes, her head pounding.
Her phone sat in her pocket, heavy as a stone.
She pulled it out, unlocking it.
Jane's messages stared back at her.
"Can we talk?"
"I hope you're okay. Just... let me know you're alright?"
Sophia's thumb hovered over the keyboard.
What do I say?
I stood outside your building in the rain because I couldn't stop thinking about you?
I've been avoiding you because I don't know how to tell you that this stopped being pretend weeks ago?
I'm terrified that if I say it out loud, you'll realize you deserve better than me?
Sophia's hands trembled.
She started typing.
"I'm sorry."
She stared at the words.
Then deleted them.
Tried again.
"I don't know what to say."
Deleted.
"I'm scared."
Deleted.
She set the phone down, pressing her palms to her face.
Her chest felt tight. Her throat burned.
She was falling apart.
And she didn't know how to stop it.
Outside the lounge, Clara stood with her tablet, pretending to review charts.
But her eyes kept drifting to the closed door.
She'd known Sophia for years.
And she'd never seen her like this.
Whatever was happening—whoever Jane was—
It was breaking Sophia open.
And Clara could only hope that when the pieces came back together, Sophia would be brave enough to let someone in.