By the time Jane's last lecture ended, the campus had begun to empty. The afternoon sun had softened into a honeyed gold, casting long, lazy shadows across the quad.
A breeze stirred the leaves of the old oaks, carrying the faint, dusty scent of dry grass and the distant echo of a closing library door.
Jane stepped outside with Mia, adjusting the strap of her bag where it had dug a groove into her shoulder. Her newly short nails caught the light as she tugged at the canvas.
Mia fell into step beside her, then tilted her head, studying Jane's profile like she was reading a textbook. "You're smiling again."
Jane glanced at her, one brow lifting. "Am I?"
"Yes." Mia poked Jane's cheek with one finger. "Right there. That little curve. It's been there for the last ten minutes."
"Maybe I'm just happy the lecture is over." Jane swatted Mia's hand away, but the smile stayed.
"Sure." Mia's voice dripped with skepticism.
Jane laughed, a short, breathy sound. "What?"
Mia didn't answer with words. She just pointed—a sharp, deliberate gesture toward the road.
Jane followed her gaze.
Sophia's car was parked near the university entrance, sleek and dark against the warm stone of the campus wall.
And Sophia was standing beside it, one shoulder leaned against the driver's door, her phone glowing in her palm.
Her white coat was gone, replaced by a fitted navy blazer that hugged her frame.
She was scrolling, her brow slightly furrowed in concentration.
Then she looked up.
The moment her eyes found Jane, something shifted. Not dramatically. Just enough. Her shoulders dropped from their professional squareness.
The tension in her jaw melted. And a small, private smile tugged at the corner of her mouth—the kind that wasn't meant for anyone else.
Jane felt her own smile grow, warm and unstoppable, spreading across her face like sunrise.
Mia noticed. She let out a low whistle. "Oh, you're gone."
"Shut up." Jane's cheeks flushed, but she couldn't stop grinning.
Mia laughed, bright and unrepentant. "Have fun." She gave Jane a little shove between the shoulder blades, sending her stumbling forward a step.
Jane turned back, walking backward for a moment. "I'll text you later."
"Don't text me anything I don't want to know." Mia wiggled her fingers in a wave and veered off toward the dorms.
Jane turned and started walking toward Sophia, her shoes slapping softly against the warm pavement. The air smelled like exhaust and cut grass and something sweet from the food truck near the gate.
Sophia slipped her phone into her bag, the zipper rasping shut. Her eyes swept over Jane—the flush on her cheeks, the way her hair had escaped its ponytail, the slight breathlessness in her step.
"You're late." Sophia's voice was dry, but her eyes were warm.
Jane stopped in front of her, close enough to catch the faint, clean scent of Sophia's perfume—something floral, understated. "By three minutes."
"I noticed." Sophia's gaze flicked to the watch on her wrist, then back to Jane's face.
Jane narrowed her eyes, but the smile wouldn't leave. "You've been waiting long?"
"Twenty minutes." Sophia said it simply, like it was nothing.
Jane's expression softened. Her hand reached out, almost unconsciously, and brushed against Sophia's sleeve. "You could have gone back to the hospital."
"I wanted to pick you up." Sophia's voice was quiet, matter-of-fact.
There was something so simple about the way Sophia said it that Jane didn't know what to do with herself. Her chest tightened. Her fingers curled into the fabric of Sophia's blazer for just a second before she let go.
She smiled, small and genuine. "Hi."
Sophia smiled back, and it reached her eyes—crinkling the corners, softening her whole face. "Hi."
Jane leaned forward and pressed her lips to Sophia's cheek. The skin was warm, smooth, and Jane felt the faint hitch in Sophia's breath.
Sophia blinked when Jane pulled back, her lashes fluttering. "You do that every time now?"
Jane opened the passenger door, the metal cool against her palm. "Do what?"
"Kiss me without warning." Sophia's voice had dropped, just slightly.
Jane slid into the seat, the leather creaking beneath her. She looked up at Sophia through the open door. "You don't seem to complain."
Sophia's lips curved, slow and deliberate. "I didn't say I disliked it."
"Exactly." Jane pulled the door shut with a soft thunk.
Sophia shook her head, a quiet laugh escaping her, and got behind the wheel. The engine purred to life, vibrating faintly through the seats. She adjusted the rearview mirror, then glanced at Jane.
"Where are we going?" Jane asked, buckling her seatbelt. The click was sharp in the enclosed space.
"You'll see." Sophia pulled away from the curb, her hands steady on the wheel.
Jane looked at her suspiciously, one eyebrow arched. "You keep saying that."
"Because you're very curious." Sophia's tone was teasing, but her eyes stayed on the road.
"I like knowing things." Jane crossed her arms, the fabric of her shirt pulling taut across her shoulders.
"I know." Sophia's smile was audible in her voice.
Sophia merged onto the main road, the buildings of the university shrinking in the side mirror.
Jane watched them go, then turned her gaze to Sophia's profile—the sharp line of her jaw, the way her fingers curled around the steering wheel, the faint pulse beating at her throat.
"So you're really not telling me?" Jane pressed.
"No." Sophia's voice was firm, but her lips twitched.
"Not even a hint?"
"No." A pause. "Well."
Jane leaned forward, her knees bumping the glove compartment. "Well what?"
Sophia's eyes flicked to her, amused. "It's not a fast-food place."
Jane groaned, dropping her head back against the headrest. "That's not a hint. That's a genre."
"I'm trying." Sophia's laugh was soft, warm.
"Try harder." Jane poked Sophia's arm.
Sophia's smile widened. "No."
Jane folded her arms, huffing. "Fine." But she was smiling too.
"Good." Sophia's voice was satisfied.
They drove for several minutes, the city thinning around them. The buildings grew shorter, the streets quieter.
Jane watched through the window as storefronts gave way to trees, and the asphalt turned to cobblestone.
She sat up straighter. "Are we leaving town?"
"No." Sophia's voice was calm.
"Are you taking me somewhere illegal?" Jane's eyes sparkled.
Sophia looked at her, amused, one eyebrow lifting. "Absolutely not."
"Kidnapping?" Jane's voice was deadpan.
"Jane."
"I'm just making sure." Jane held up her hands in mock surrender.
Sophia laughed—a real, unguarded sound that filled the car and made something in Jane's chest flutter.
Jane went quiet for a second, watching Sophia's face in the dimming light. "I like hearing you laugh."
Sophia glanced at her, her expression softening. "You do?"
"Yeah." Jane's voice was quieter now. "You don't hear it often?"
"Not enough." Sophia's fingers tightened slightly on the wheel.
Sophia's smile faded into something gentler, her eyes lingering on Jane for a moment longer than the road required. "Then I'll try to laugh more."
Jane smiled, her cheeks warming. "Good."
A few minutes later, Sophia pulled into a gravel lot and cut the engine. The sudden silence was thick, broken only by the tick of cooling metal and the distant chirp of birds.
Jane looked around. The restaurant was small, tucked behind a wall of climbing ivy, with warm amber light spilling from its windows.
Beyond it, a garden stretched out—neat rows of flowers, a small fountain gurgling softly, the last of the day's sunlight catching the water.
Jane's breath caught. "This is beautiful."
Sophia turned off the ignition and sat back, watching Jane's face. "I thought you'd like it."
Jane looked at her, something vulnerable in her eyes. "You picked this?"
"Yes." Sophia's voice was quiet.
"Why?"
Sophia hesitated. Her thumb traced the edge of the steering wheel, back and forth. "Because it's quiet. And I wanted somewhere we could actually talk."
Jane smiled, soft and knowing. "That sounds very serious."
Sophia opened her door, the cool evening air rushing in. "It is our first proper date."
Jane followed her out, the gravel crunching beneath her sandals. She stepped closer to Sophia, close enough to see the faint freckles across the bridge of her nose. "You're nervous."
Sophia looked at her, her jaw tightening slightly. "I'm not."
Jane stepped closer, her hand reaching out to brush Sophia's fingers. "You are."
Sophia exhaled, a slow release of breath. "Maybe a little."
Jane smiled and slipped her hand fully into Sophia's, their fingers interlacing. Her palm was warm, slightly damp. "Good."
"Why good?" Sophia's voice was barely above a murmur.
"Because I'm nervous too." Jane's thumb traced a slow circle on the back of Sophia's hand.
Sophia looked down at their joined hands, then back at Jane's face. Her brow furrowed. "I wouldn't have guessed."
"I've been pretending to be confident." Jane's grin was crooked, self-deprecating.
Sophia's lips curved. "You're very convincing."
"I know." Jane squeezed her hand.
They walked inside together. The air shifted—warmer, filled with the rich aroma of garlic and herbs and baking bread.
Soft jazz played from hidden speakers, and candles flickered on every table.
The hostess smiled, and the waiter—a young man with a kind face—led them to a small table near the window.
Sophia pulled Jane's chair out for her, the legs scraping softly against the wooden floor.
Jane sat, looking up at her, the candlelight catching the gold in her eyes. "Thank you."
Sophia took the seat opposite her, unfolding her napkin with precise movements.
Jane picked up the menu, her fingers brushing against the textured paper. "Do you always do that?"
"Do what?" Sophia looked up.
"Pull chairs out."
Sophia shrugged, one shoulder lifting elegantly. "Sometimes."
"For everyone?" Jane's voice was light, but her eyes were searching.
Sophia looked at her, holding her gaze. "No."
Jane's cheeks warmed, a slow blush creeping up her neck. "Oh."
Sophia smiled, a soft, private thing. "I like taking care of you."
Jane lowered the menu slightly, peering over the top. "You're making it difficult for me to behave."
Sophia raised a brow, her lips twitching. "Were you planning to misbehave?"
"Maybe." Jane's voice was teasing, but her eyes were soft.
Sophia laughed again—that warm, unguarded sound—and Jane's face lit up.
"There." Jane pointed at her.
"What?" Sophia's laughter faded into a smile.
"That laugh."
Sophia shook her head, looking down at her menu. "You're strange."
"You like me." Jane said it like a fact.
Sophia looked back up. "I do."
The answer came so easily that Jane went still. Her breath caught. The menu lowered fully to the table.
Sophia seemed to realize what she'd said, her eyes widening for just a fraction of a second before she looked down at the menu again, her fingers gripping the edge.
Jane's smile became softer, more vulnerable. "You really do?"
Sophia looked back at her, and there was no hesitation this time. "Yes."
Jane reached across the table, her palm open. Sophia met her halfway, their fingers threading together. The warmth of Sophia's hand anchored her.
"I like you too." Jane's voice was barely a whisper.
Their hands stayed together on the table, resting between the salt shaker and the candle. Neither seemed interested in letting go.
The waiter returned, pen poised, and they reluctantly separated—fingers dragging, lingering.
Once he left, Jane leaned forward, her elbows on the table. "So…"
Sophia tilted her head. "First date question?"
"Go ahead." Jane gestured with her chin.
"What did you think of me when you first met me?" Sophia's voice was curious, open.
Jane's smile faltered, just slightly. "You want the honest answer?"
"Always."
"I was scared." Jane admitted it quietly, her thumb tracing circles on the tablecloth. "You came out of nowhere, and then suddenly I was in some stranger's car, going to some stranger's house, and I didn't know you at all."
Sophia's teasing expression faded into something softer. "I remember."
"I kept thinking—" Jane let out a small, embarrassed laugh. "I kept thinking you were going to be some hitman, or, I don't know, that something terrible was going to happen. You were this beautiful stranger who almost ran me over and then just... took me home like it was nothing."
"You were terrified of me," Sophia said, a small smile pulling at her mouth. "I could tell. You kept looking at me like I might disappear into smoke."
"I was waiting for you to be dangerous." Jane shook her head slowly. "But you weren't. You didn't run. You didn't just leave me on the side of the road after almost hitting me — you helped me. Cleaned up my hand, gave me a place to sleep, didn't ask for anything." She met Sophia's eyes. "I didn't understand it. Why a stranger would do that."
Sophia's expression softened, her gaze tracing Jane's face. "And now?"
Jane's teasing disappeared. She looked down for a moment, her fingers tracing the edge of the tablecloth. When she looked back up, her eyes were earnest. "Now I think you're the best unexpected thing that has happened to me in a very long time."
Sophia's breath hitched. Her hand reached across the table again, and Jane took it without hesitation.
Jane squeezed her fingers. "That's a very good answer, Doctor."
Sophia smiled, her thumb stroking across Jane's knuckles. "Thank you."
Their food arrived—steaming plates of pasta and grilled vegetables, the aroma of rosemary and lemon filling the space between them.
They ate between conversations, forks clinking against ceramic, wine glasses sweating in the warm air.
They talked about everything. Jane's childhood—growing up in a small town, learning to drive in her dad's old truck.
Sophia's medical school years—the sleepless nights, the first time she held a scalpel.
Ridiculous habits: Jane bit her lip when she was thinking; Sophia organized her books by color. Small things they'd never had enough time to ask.
Jane told Sophia about the time she accidentally set off the fire alarm in her dorm. Sophia told Jane about the patient who brought her a homemade pie every Christmas for ten years.
They laughed. They leaned closer. Their knees brushed under the table, and neither pulled away.
For once, neither of them was looking at the clock.
And when Sophia finally glanced across the table at Jane, watching the candlelight dance in her eyes, she realized something.
She wasn't counting down until the date ended.
She was already wondering when she could have another one.