During the morning lecture, Grace tries her best to concentrate on Professor Candice's voice. She takes notes, nods at key points, and keeps her eyes on the screen—but her heart isn't fully in the room. Ever since she admitted to herself that she likes Julian, something inside her has shifted.
Her heart beats faster now, not just from nerves, but from the strange, undeniable realization. She likes him. Really likes him.
And no matter how much she'd tried to avoid it—deny it—that truth has surfaced. Now, she can't stop thinking about him.
Is this feeling even right? she wonders, chewing on the end of her pen.
She doesn't know. She's never known. But one thing is certain. Something new has started inside her, something she can't ignore anymore.
"Okay, we'll take a ten-minute break," Professor Candice announces.
Grace sighs softly and stretches her arms.
"Grace," Harry calls her from beside. "You seem a lot better than you did at the party. I guess leaving early was a good move. You look more energized."
"Yeah, I guess so. Thanks for bringing me there, by the way."
Harry nods, his smile widening with quiet satisfaction.
Then, after a moment, he adds, "You know there's no class on Tuesday or Thursday this week. Professor Julian cancelled for personal reasons."
"Yeah, I saw the email," Grace replies, trying to sound casual.
Harry tilts his head slightly, thoughtful.
"It's kind of weird though, right? He didn't say anything about that last week."
Grace looks down at her phone, pretending to scroll.
"Well…" she mutters, unable to offer more.
A soft pang of guilt rises in her chest. Julian had to cancel his classes—his entire work week—because he saved her. Because of her.
Not knowing the truth, Harry chuckles.
"Well, we both don't know anyway, right?"
Grace forces a small smile.
There's a glimmer in Harry's eyes as he leans a little closer.
"Since there's no class on Tuesday or Thursday, want to go somewhere fun? Like, really fun?"
Grace raises an eyebrow, curious.
"Somewhere fun?"
"Yeah. Like… I don't know, an amusement park or something," he says with a laugh.
She gives a soft, hesitant laugh in return. She does love amusement parks. The thrill of roller coasters, the rush of wind in her face—she's always loved it.
But then an image flashes across her mind: Julian lying in a hospital bed, his leg in a cast, his wrist stiff in a sling.
The guilt returns, swift and heavy.
Julian's voice echoes in her mind.
"You don't need to drop by anymore."
The words weren't cold exactly, but they'd stuck with her. That indifferent tone. That finality.
He doesn't want me to come anyway, she thinks bitterly, one corner of her lips curling in a wry smile.
"So?" Harry asks, eyes bright with excitement. "You're coming?"
Grace hesitates for a moment longer, then exhales.
"Sure," she says, feigning ease. "Why don't we go tomorrow."
Another quiet night descends over the hospital. Moonlight spills through the tall window beside Julian's bed, casting pale silver patterns across the sheets. The city beyond glows faintly in the distance, a quiet contrast to the sterile stillness of his room.
Julian exhales and shifts in bed, careful of the cast that cages his leg and the lingering ache in his wrist. The monotony of the hospital routine—the same meals, same hallway footsteps, same conversations—has started to gnaw at his spirit.
Restless, he reaches for his iPad from the bed table. Eugene had brought it along with his other belongings. With a soft tap, Julian unlocks the screen and opens his drawing app, his fingers already familiar with the rhythm of creating.
He glances out the window again, searching the cityscape, the stars.
What should I draw…?
As a former fashion designer and now a professor, drawing has always been more than a pastime. It's a part of who he is—something he's done for as long as he can remember. His home holds volumes of sketches. Landscapes, children he's rescued over the years, the soft curls of sleeping babies, the expressions of strangers whose faces once lingered in his heart.
But tonight, when he asks himself what to draw, only one image rises to the surface.
Grace.
Her expression in the hallway. Her voice when she called his name. The way her brows furrow slightly when she's confused. The way her presence lingers like perfume.
He shakes his head, lips tugging in quiet denial.
No. I'm not drawing her.
But nothing else comes. No landscapes. No strangers. No abstract ideas.
Just her.
Julian sighs. He knows the truth already—has known it for a while. He's careful with his own heart, often searching it deeply, honestly. He's admitted to himself what this is, what he feels, and yet… there's something stuck. Like knowing he likes her but not knowing what to do about it. Not knowing if it's right. If it's fair.
Still, despite the resistance in his mind, his right hand starts to move.
The Apple Pencil meets the screen with practiced ease. His fingers flow in gentle, precise strokes.
Julian's hand moves almost instinctively, the Apple Pencil gliding over the screen as he begins to shape Grace's face. The curve of her jaw, the soft fall of her hair—each line drawn with care, like each one matters, as though the very act of sketching her brings him closer to understanding her.
His focus sharpens, the world around him fading into a blur. But as he sketches, his mind drifts, and memories surface like old photographs.
He remembers the countless times he drew Hannah, years ago, when he couldn't be with her. How he captured her smile, her eyes, the soft glow of her skin. The tenderness he poured into each sketch, longing for her presence, for something more than just a fleeting image on a page.
But now, as his hand hovers over Grace's drawing, a familiar ache stirs in his chest. The same ache he felt when he was drawing Hannah, the same unspoken longing, and a deep, gnawing feeling that something is wrong.
His fingers freeze. He lowers the pencil and takes a step back, his gaze fixed on the incomplete drawing of Grace. It's almost finished—just a few final touches—but something inside him pulls at his resolve.
He can't do this.
A flash of guilt washes over him.
With a sigh, Julian closes the iPad cover with deliberate slowness and places it back on the bedside table. The emptiness in the air is almost suffocating. He runs a hand through his hair, the weight of his thoughts pressing down on him.
Grabbing his phone with a quiet exhale, he checks the notifications. A flurry of emails and texts scrolls past, but none from Grace.
He smirks bitterly.
She's so cool, I guess. Not caring at all after I told her not to come. Maybe she didn't want to come in the first place...
The sarcasm stings as it crawls up from the pit of his chest. He shakes his head, trying to push the feeling aside, but it lingers—biting, sharp. He closes his eyes, trying to find some semblance of calm.
And then, his phone vibrates.
His eyes snap open. He reaches for the device, heart skipping a beat before he even looks at the screen. His breath catches in his throat when he sees the name.
Grace Silver.
Her message feels like a breath of fresh air, but also like a jolt of electricity. His lips curl up involuntarily, a soft smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. Yet, beneath the smile, something flutters in his chest—something he can't name, something he's not sure he's ready to confront.
He stares at the screen for a moment, pondering how to respond. His fingers hover over the keys, but nothing feels right. With anyone else, he'd already have replied, quick and effortless. But with Grace, every word feels too heavy, too revealing.
He puts the phone down with a quiet sigh, glancing at the bedside table as though it holds all the answers he needs. But there's no answer. Only a lingering smile on his lips, and a heart that won't quite settle.
Tuesday morning arrives slower than usual. The gentle rays of sunshine filter through Grace's window, casting a warm glow over the room, and the late summer breeze stirs softly, offering a brief respite from the usual heat. She lies in bed for a moment, silently thanking God for the start of a new day. The stillness feels peaceful, and for a second, Grace feels content.
As she reaches for her phone beside her on the bed, her fingers swipe across the screen. Her notifications scroll by, mostly from random apps, and her heart skips when she sees there's nothing from Julian. She checks the time—8:59 am. She's definitely awake later than usual.
So he's not replying yet...
Grace lets out a soft sigh, a hint of disappointment settling in her chest. She shakes her head, pushing the thought away, and forces a small smile.
But as soon as she starts to sit up, her phone vibrates. Her eyes snap to it without thinking. It's a text from Julian.