The cafe was nestled between two independent bookstores on a quiet street, the kind of place people passed without noticing unless they were truly looking. Its windows were fogged with the condensation of warm espresso and conversation. Outside, Evelyn stood, staring at her reflection in the glass. Her hands stayed buried in the deep pockets of her charcoal coat, fists clenched against the chill. It had been years since she'd gone anywhere that wasn't strictly work-related. The very idea of meeting someone outside of a hospital setting, especially him, felt foreign.
But she was here. Adrian had texted her the address three days ago, with no push or pressure, just a short note:
> If you ever feel like you can breathe again, even just for five minutes, come here. I'll be waiting. No expectations.
That message had stayed in her mind longer than she wanted to admit. And today, for reasons she didn't fully understand, she had chosen to come.
The small bell above the door jingled as she stepped inside. The warmth enveloped her immediately, scented with roasted beans and cinnamon. Soft jazz played over the speakers. Her eyes scanned the room until she found him in the corner—sitting at a small round table near the window, beanie pulled low over his hair, a paperback in his left hand and coffee in his right.
He looked up as she approached and blinked, as if unsure he was really seeing her.
"You came," he said softly, setting the book down.
"I didn't have surgery scheduled this morning," she replied, carefully removing her gloves. "And I needed caffeine."
His lips twitched. "I'll pretend you're here just for the coffee."
"You should," she said, but there was no bite in her tone.
Evelyn sat across from him. The seat was worn, the table scratched with initials and hearts etched by bored students or lonely lovers. She noticed her own shoulders were tense, her back too straight, arms too still. She hated how unnatural this felt. She hated even more how much she wanted it not to be.
He slid a fresh cup of coffee toward her. "Black. No sugar. No cream. Just like your personality."
She raised an eyebrow. "You remembered."
"I remember more than you think."
She sipped the coffee and said nothing. The silence between them was filled with something different this time. Not tension. Not awkwardness. Just space. Room to exist.
Adrian leaned back, letting out a slow breath. "You know, I didn't think you'd actually show up."
"Neither did I."
He smiled. "I guess we're both full of surprises."
They sat like that for a while—two people with very different lives, finding a moment where those lives intersected in something quieter than obligation. Outside the window, snow flurries danced like confetti, and for a while, neither of them spoke.
"You seem more…" Evelyn hesitated, then found the word. "Settled."
Adrian nodded. "Yeah. Therapy's helping. So don't pretend everything's okay all the time."
She looked at him, not as a doctor, but as Evelyn. "It takes strength to admit that."
"It shouldn't. But yeah." He turned his gaze to the window. "You spend so much time performing—on screen, in interviews, on red carpets—you start to lose track of who you are without the performance. I didn't realize how tired I was until I stopped."
"And now?"
"Now I'm trying to be real. Even if it's messy."
She studied his profile—the faint bruise still lingering near his temple from the accident, the subtle sadness in his eyes that no makeup or lights could cover. There was a quiet dignity in the way he carried it now, like he'd accepted the cracks rather than trying to hide them.
"You're lucky," she said softly.
He turned back to her. "How so?"
"You figured it out in time. Some people never do."
There was a beat of silence. Then he asked, "And you? Do you know who you are without the white coat?"
Evelyn's mouth twitched, but her answer was honest. "No. I've never taken it off long enough to find out."
He reached across the table slowly, not touching her but offering his hand, palm up. "You could. If you wanted to."
She stared at his hand for a long time, then placed hers gently in his. The contact was brief, but something about it startled her—how human it felt. How comforting. How terrifying.
Adrian pulled back, sensing her unease. "No pressure. Just… I see you. Not the doctor. You. And I think there's more there than you let people believe."
She didn't respond, couldn't. Her throat had closed up in that familiar way it did when emotions tried to get through the cracks. So instead, she reached for her coffee again and took another sip, letting the heat anchor her.
Outside, a child slipped in the snow and laughed. Inside, the warmth between them slowly melted years of guarded silence. Before leaving, Evelyn surprised herself. "You should keep reading," she said, nodding towards the book on the table.
Adrian picked it up. "You know it?"
"I recommended it to one of my residents once. It's about a man who loses everything… but finds himself by building something new."
Adrian smiled. "Sounds familiar."She met his eyes. "Don't get used to this. I'm not good at small talk."
"Good," he said. "Neither am I. But I'm great at moments that matter."
She left the café with a strange tightness in her chest. Not pain. Not anxiety.Something else entirely.Hope.