By midday, Sophia had settled completely into work—the kind of deep, consuming focus that made the hours dissolve into a blur of voices, documents, and decisions.
The morning had been a succession of consultations, reports, and rapid-fire choices.
By twelve-thirty, she was seated in a conference room with three department heads, the air cool and sterile, the fluorescent lights humming overhead.
Her tablet lay open in front of her, the screen glowing with color-coded schedules.
Dr. Lewis, a stout man with wire-rimmed glasses, leaned forward, his elbows pressing into the polished table. "Cardiology wants the additional theatre time. They're saying the current schedule isn't enough."
Sophia scanned the proposed schedule, her finger tracing the columns. The numbers blurred for a moment before sharpening into focus. "They've requested four extra blocks."
"Yes." Dr. Lewis's voice was firm.
Sophia looked up, her gaze steady. "They can have two."
Dr. Lewis frowned, the skin between his brows creasing. "Two?"
"Two is reasonable." Sophia's voice was calm, measured. "If I give them four, every other department loses operating time. Orthopedics has been waiting for their allocation, and I'm not pitting departments against each other."
Clara, seated beside her, nodded. Her pen tapped once against her notepad. "I agree."
Sophia looked around the table, her eyes sweeping across each face. "Any other concerns?"
The room went quiet—the kind of silence that came from respect, not fear. A few heads shook. One department head shuffled his papers.
"Good." Sophia closed the tablet with a soft click. "Send the revised schedule to administration before four."
The meeting continued for another twenty minutes. Sophia answered every question without hesitation, her voice steady and sure.
She made her decisions, signed what needed signing, and closed the meeting exactly when she said she would—like a surgeon closing an incision with precision.
As everyone began gathering their things—chairs scraping, folders snapping shut, the low murmur of conversation—Clara watched her. Her gaze was curious, appraising.
"You're frighteningly efficient today." Clara's voice was low, meant only for Sophia.
Sophia stood, smoothing the front of her blazer. "That's generally considered a good thing."
"It is when you're not terrifying the staff." Clara's grin was teasing.
Sophia gave her a flat look, one eyebrow lifting. "I don't terrify anyone."
Clara laughed, the sound bright against the sterile hum of the room. "Keep telling yourself that."
Sophia ignored her and walked back toward her office, her heels clicking against the linoleum in a steady rhythm.
The corridor was quiet, the afternoon light filtering through the windows in pale golden rectangles.
The moment she stepped inside her office and closed the door, the silence wrapped around her. She checked the time on her desk phone.
1:07 p.m.
Her hand moved to her pocket, pulling out her phone. The screen glowed, and her thumb hovered over Jane's contact.
Clara appeared in the doorway, her shoulder leaning against the frame. "Oh, no."
Sophia looked over her shoulder, her fingers stilling. "What?"
"That face." Clara's voice was knowing.
"What face?" Sophia's brow furrowed.
"The one you make when you're about to call someone. All soft around the edges." Clara mimed a swoon.
Sophia didn't bother answering. She turned back to her phone, opened her contacts, and tapped Jane's name.
The video call connected after two rings—just enough time for Sophia's heart to do a strange, fluttering thing she refused to acknowledge.
Jane appeared on screen, standing in front of a mirror. Her hair was half done—one side neatly brushed, the other still tousled from sleep. She wore a loose sweater, and the bathroom light caught the gold in her eyes.
Sophia smiled immediately, the tension in her shoulders melting. "Hi."
Jane turned toward the phone, her brush pausing mid-stroke. "Hi."
"You're getting ready." Sophia's voice was warm.
"I have class." Jane resumed brushing, the bristles moving through her hair in long, even strokes. The soft whoosh was audible through the speaker.
Sophia leaned back in her chair, the leather creaking beneath her. "I remember."
Jane paused, studying Sophia's face through the screen. "You sound tired."
Sophia blinked, surprised she'd been caught. "I've been working."
"I can tell." Jane's voice was gentle.
Sophia's lips curved. "How?"
Jane pointed the brush at the screen. "You have your serious face."
Sophia's laugh was quiet, surprised. "I always have a serious face."
"No." Jane shook her head, her hair swaying. "That one is your hospital face."
Sophia tilted her head, intrigued. "Hospital face?"
"Yes." Jane's grin was playful.
"What does my normal face look like?" Sophia's voice was curious.
Jane pretended to consider it, her brush tapping against her chin. "Less scary."
Sophia raised a brow. "I'm not scary."
Jane's grin widened. "Sometimes."
Sophia shook her head, but the smile wouldn't leave. "Did you eat?"
Jane's brush stopped. A guilty pause. "…Yes."
Sophia narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharpening through the screen. "What did you eat?"
"Breakfast." Jane's voice was defensive.
"That's not what I asked." Sophia's tone was gentle but firm.
Jane's smile turned sheepish. "I had something small."
Sophia sighed, the sound carrying a mix of affection and exasperation. "Jane."
"I'll eat after class." Jane's voice was earnest.
"Promise?" Sophia's eyes held hers.
Jane looked at her through the screen, her expression softening. "Yes."
Sophia relaxed, her shoulders dropping. "Good."
Jane returned to fixing her hair, pulling it into a loose ponytail. "You?"
"I had lunch." Sophia's voice was matter-of-fact.
"Proper lunch?" Jane's eyebrow arched.
Sophia smiled, slow and genuine. "Yes."
"Good." Jane's voice was satisfied.
They continued talking about nothing in particular.
Jane complained about one of her professors—a man with a monotone voice and a habit of droning on about statistical models.
Sophia told her about the department meeting, mimicking Dr. Lewis's frown and the way he'd argued for more theatre time.
Jane laughed at something Sophia said—a bright, unguarded sound that made Sophia's chest ache in the best way.
She forgot she was sitting in her office. Forgot the reports waiting on her desk. Forgot the time slipping past.
She was smiling at the screen, completely absorbed in the curve of Jane's lips and the way her eyes crinkled when she laughed.
The door opened.
Clara walked in carrying a folder, her heels clicking against the floor. "Sophia, I need you to sign—"
She stopped.
Sophia didn't even look up. Her gaze was fixed on the screen, her smile still in place.
Jane did. Her eyes widened slightly, flicking to something behind Sophia. "Um…"
Sophia smiled, oblivious. "What?"
Jane's eyes darted. "Sophia?"
"Hmm?" Sophia's voice was distracted.
"Someone's here." Jane's voice was a whisper.
Sophia frowned. "Who?"
Jane pointed toward the screen, her expression caught between embarrassment and amusement.
Sophia finally turned.
Clara stood in the doorway, her hand still holding the folder aloft. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted in surprise. She'd been watching for approximately thirty seconds.
Sophia's smile disappeared. "Oh."
Clara slowly lifted the folder, a grin spreading across her face. "I've been standing here for approximately thirty seconds."
Sophia cleared her throat, straightening in her chair. "I didn't hear you."
"I noticed." Clara's voice was dry, amused.
Jane tried not to laugh on screen, her hand covering her mouth. The sound escaped anyway—a muffled snort.
Clara walked closer, her curiosity piqued. She peeked at the phone screen and spotted Jane's flushed face.
"Hi." Clara's voice was friendly.
Jane smiled politely, her cheeks pink. "Hi."
Clara's eyes moved between them—the way Sophia's hand still held the phone, the way Jane's fingers were twined in her hair. Then back to Sophia.
"I have never seen this side of you before." Clara's voice was awed.
Sophia frowned, defensive. "What side?"
"The smiling one." Clara gestured at Sophia's face. "You look like a completely different person."
Jane covered her mouth, her shoulders shaking with suppressed laughter.
Sophia shot Clara a warning look, but there was no heat in it. "Do you need something?"
"Yes." Clara held up the folder. "Your signature."
Sophia reached for it, her fingers outstretched.
Clara didn't immediately hand it over. She looked at Jane again, tilting her head. "You must be important."
Jane's smile turned shy. "I hope so."
Sophia's voice was quiet, certain. "You are."
Clara's eyebrows shot up so high they nearly disappeared into her hairline.
Jane's cheeks turned a deep, rosy pink.
Sophia seemed to realize what she'd just said, her own cheeks flushing slightly.
Clara grinned, wide and unrepentant. "Oh, I'm definitely leaving now." She finally handed Sophia the folder. "Don't forget you're still the hospital director."
Sophia signed the document with a quick, efficient stroke. "I haven't forgotten."
"Good." Clara turned toward the door, then looked back over her shoulder. "Enjoy your call."
The door clicked shut.
Jane immediately burst into laughter, the sound bright and unguarded. "She likes teasing you."
"She enjoys irritating me." Sophia's voice was dry, but her eyes were warm.
"She's funny." Jane wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.
"She is." Sophia's admission was reluctant.
Jane smiled, her laughter fading into something softer. Sophia looked at the clock on her desk—1:32 p.m.
"You should finish getting ready." Sophia's voice was gentle.
Jane sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. "I know."
"I'll call you tonight." Sophia's hand hovered over the phone.
"You promise?" Jane's voice was earnest.
Sophia's gaze was steady. "I promise."
Jane smiled, small and vulnerable. "Okay. Go save the hospital."
Sophia smiled back. "Go to class."
"Bossy." Jane's voice was teasing.
"Stubborn." Sophia's retort was soft.
Jane laughed, the sound lingering. "Bye, girlfriend."
Sophia's expression softened, the words settling in her chest like warmth. "Bye."
The screen went dark.
Sophia remained still for a second, her thumb tracing the edge of the phone case. The quiet hum of the office wrapped around her. Then she set the phone down and looked at the pile of paperwork waiting on her desk.
She sighed, pulling the first folder toward her. "Back to work."
By the time Sophia returned home that evening, the day had finally caught up with her.
The drive had been a blur of traffic and tail lights, the city's glow reflecting off the windshield.
Her shoulders ached from hours of leaning over her desk, and her eyes felt gritty with fatigue.
She unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, the familiar scent of her home—cedar and lavender—washing over her.
"I'm home." Her voice echoed softly in the entryway.
No answer.
Sophia frowned, her keys still in her hand. She closed the door, the lock clicking into place.
Then she heard something from the kitchen. A cupboard opening. The soft clink of ceramic against ceramic.
She walked toward the sound, her footsteps muffled by the rug.
And stopped.
Jane stood at the kitchen counter, her back to Sophia. She was wearing one of Sophia's oversized shirts—a soft, faded grey one that hung past her thighs.
Her hair was tied loosely back, a few strands escaping to frame her face.
She was concentrating on something in a pan, a wooden spoon in her hand. The gentle sizzle of cooking filled the air, along with the rich aroma of garlic and herbs.
Sophia stared, her breath catching.
Jane looked over her shoulder, a smile spreading across her face. "Oh."
Sophia set her bag down, the strap sliding from her shoulder. "What are you doing here?"
Jane's smile widened. "Making dinner."
Sophia looked around the kitchen—at the pots on the stove, the cutting board scattered with vegetables, the glass of wine resting on the counter. "You came here after class?"
"Yes." Jane turned back to the pan, giving it a gentle stir.
"How did you get in?" Sophia's voice was soft, wondering.
Jane glanced at her, a hint of shyness in her smile. "You gave me a key."
Sophia blinked.
Right. She had. A week ago, after Jane had shown up at her door and waited outside in the cold because Sophia had been in a meeting. She'd pressed a spare key into Jane's palm and told her, "I don't want you waiting outside."
She'd forgotten she'd done that. Or maybe she just hadn't expected Jane to use it.
Jane turned back to the stove, her movements easy and familiar. "You said you didn't want me waiting outside if I came over."
Sophia walked closer, her shoes tapping against the tile. "I remember."
Jane glanced at her, her gaze soft. "You look tired."
"I am." Sophia's admission was quiet.
"Sit down." Jane gestured with the spoon.
Sophia smiled, a slow, helpless curve. "You're ordering me around again."
"Yes." Jane's voice was firm, but her eyes were dancing.
Sophia obeyed. She pulled out a stool and sat at the kitchen island, her elbows resting on the cool marble.
She watched Jane move—the way she reached for salt, the way she tilted the pan, the way her borrowed shirt slipped off one shoulder.
Jane placed a plate in front of her. It was pasta—tossed with roasted vegetables and a light, fragrant sauce. Steam rose from the plate, carrying the scent of basil and lemon.
"Eat." Jane's voice was soft.
Sophia looked at the food, then at Jane. "You cooked this?"
Jane nodded, a hint of pride in her eyes. "I did."
Sophia picked up her fork, the metal cool and familiar in her hand. She twirled a bite and lifted it to her mouth.
Jane watched her carefully, her fingers gripping the edge of the counter. "Well?"
Sophia chewed slowly, savoring the warmth, the brightness of the lemon, the earthiness of the vegetables. She looked up.
"This is good." Her voice was genuine, surprised.
Jane's face lit up. "Really?"
"Really." Sophia took another bite, larger this time.
Jane relaxed, her shoulders dropping. She picked up her own glass of wine and took a sip, watching Sophia with warm, satisfied eyes.
Sophia took another bite, then reached across the counter and caught Jane's hand. Her fingers wrapped around Jane's, warm and sure.
Jane looked down at their joined hands, then back at Sophia. "What?"
Sophia smiled, her thumb stroking across Jane's knuckles. "Nothing."
She squeezed gently. "I just missed you."
Jane's smile softened, her eyes going tender. "I missed you too."
And just like that, the long day didn't feel quite so long anymore.
The kitchen hummed with warmth—the soft bubble of the simmering sauce, the faint hum of the refrigerator, the gentle rhythm of their breathing. Outside, the city glowed through the window, distant and unimportant.
Jane's hand stayed in Sophia's, and neither of them let go.