The next day felt slower.
Not in the way that dragged, but in the way time seemed to stretch just enough for me to notice things I usually wouldn't.
The quiet between tasks. The small pauses between conversations. The moments where my mind had room to wander.
And somehow—
It kept wandering back to him.
"Sophie."
I looked up from the chart in my hands to find Samuel standing across from me, his expression calm, like he had been there for a while.
"You're zoning out," he said.
I blinked, straightening slightly. "I am not."
He raised a brow, unconvinced. "You've been staring at that page for at least a minute."
I glanced down at the chart, realizing I hadn't turned the page.
"Okay," I admitted. "Maybe a little."
A small smile tugged at his lips. "Rough day?"
"Not really," I said, closing the file. "Just… thinking."
"About?"
I hesitated for half a second before shaking my head. "Nothing important."
He didn't push.
He never did.
Instead, he nodded lightly, like that answer was enough, and leaned against the counter beside me. The space between us wasn't close enough to feel intentional—but it wasn't distant either.
Comfortable.
"Walk with me?" he asked.
"Where?"
"Coffee," he said simply.
I let out a quiet breath, glancing down the hallway before nodding. "I could use a break."
We fell into step easily, moving through the corridors without needing to fill the silence. The hospital buzzed around us—voices, footsteps, distant calls—but somehow, it felt quieter.
Or maybe it was just us.
"You always do this," I said after a moment.
"Do what?"
"Show up when I need a break," I replied.
He glanced at me briefly, a faint smile lingering. "Maybe your timing just lines up with mine."
"Mm-hm," I hummed. "Convenient."
"Very."
I shook my head slightly, but the small smile on my face didn't fade.
By the time we reached the café downstairs, the line had already thinned out. He ordered first, something simple, then stepped aside to wait while I placed mine.
When I joined him again, he handed me a napkin without saying anything.
I took it, pausing for a second before looking at him. "You do that a lot too."
"What?"
"Little things," I said. "You just… notice."
He didn't respond right away.
Instead, he leaned back slightly against the counter, his gaze settling on me in a way that felt more deliberate than before.
"I've always noticed," he said quietly.
The words were simple.
But they landed differently.
I held his gaze for a second longer than I should have before looking away, my fingers tightening slightly around the cup in my hand.
"Some things don't change," I murmured.
"No," he agreed. "They don't."
The moment lingered, quiet but heavy in a way I couldn't quite explain.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… closer.
We found a table near the window, sitting across from each other as the late afternoon light filtered in. Conversation came easily after that, shifting from work to small memories—things we hadn't talked about in years but somehow still remembered.
"You used to hate early mornings," he said.
"I still do," I replied. "I just tolerate them better now."
"That's not what I remember."
I raised a brow. "What do you remember?"
He leaned back slightly, studying me like he was deciding how much to say. "I remember you skipping breakfast because you were always late."
"That was one time."
"It was more than one time."
I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. "You're exaggerating."
"Am I?" he asked.
"Yes."
He smiled faintly, like he knew something I didn't.
And just like that—
The tension I had been carrying all week slipped a little further away.
It wasn't dramatic.
It didn't disappear completely.
But it softened.
And for the first time in a while—
I felt grounded.
Like I wasn't trying so hard to hold everything together.
Like I could just… be.
When we walked back upstairs, the moment didn't end.
It just settled into something quieter.
Something that didn't need to be defined.
"I'll see you later?" he asked as we reached the split in the hallway.
I nodded. "Yeah."
He hesitated for a fraction of a second, like he might say something else.
But he didn't.
He just gave a small nod before turning away.
I watched him go for a second longer than necessary before forcing myself to move in the opposite direction.
And as I stepped back into the rhythm of the hospital, one thought lingered quietly in the back of my mind.
It was getting easier.
Too easy.