Lily woke with a chill dancing across her skin.
She blinked into the pale morning light, the fabric of Lance's coat still tangled around her like a soft, protective shell. Her blanket remained folded at the foot of her bed, untouched. She must have fallen asleep on top of it—no wonder her toes felt frozen and her nose a little cold.
Still half-asleep, she tugged the coat tighter around her and buried her face in the collar, inhaling the now-familiar scent of citrus, sandalwood, and something like old books warmed by the sun. A ridiculous smile curled on her lips.
She sighed contentedly, but the cold air nipping at her arms finally got the better of her.
With a soft groan, she tossed the coat aside—gently, as though it were something sacred—and padded to the bathroom in her socks. Her reflection in the mirror made her laugh out loud: hair puffed like a dandelion, sleep still tucked under her eyes, and Lance's coat imprinting a perfect fold on her cheek.
"Okay, not exactly presentable for public appearances," she muttered to herself.
She flicked on the shower, letting the steam build while she rummaged for her softest towel and that almond-scented body wash she hadn't used in weeks. As the warm water washed over her, she let herself breathe for a moment—really breathe. The ache in her joints was gone. Her body was lighter, no longer fighting itself.
And more than that… she felt hopeful. A cautious, budding kind of hope. The kind that took root slowly.
Wrapped in her towel, she wandered back into her room, hair dripping, cheeks flushed from the heat. She paused at her wardrobe, eyeing the rows of bright scarves and patterned jackets. Her fingers hovered over a sunflower-yellow wrap, but instead, she turned and grabbed her soft, pastel pink coat. It was light, airy—just enough to keep the spring breeze at bay without smothering the warmth of the day. The fabric swayed softly as she pulled it on, and it added a touch of brightness to her mood. She had decided on a white sundress with delicate lace at the hem, just the right balance of feminine and carefree. For shoes, she slid on a pair of dainty ballet flats, the kind that felt like walking on air. Her hair, still damp from the shower, tumbled in soft curls down her back, catching the light as she shook it out.
She twirled once in front of the mirror, feeling the lightness of her steps, the soft fabric of her dress, the sun warming the air outside. She wasn't sure why, but wearing something this vibrant—this alive—felt like the right choice. A fresh start of sorts.
She reached for the bottle of her favorite floral perfume on the bathroom counter—Petals of Spring, it was called. The scent was light, fresh, with notes of jasmine and rose that always reminded her of walks through sunlit gardens, of mornings where the world felt full of possibility.
She closed her eyes for a moment as she spritzed the mist in the air, letting it fall around her like a soft, invisible veil. She inhaled deeply, the fragrance lifting her spirits in a way she hadn't expected. It felt like a quiet celebration of the new day. A day she was stepping into, fully awake.
With a last glance at her reflection, she grabbed her bag and made her way to the kitchen for a quick breakfast. The eggs were soft and buttery, the toast perfectly golden. She ate quickly, not wanting to waste a moment of the day, but there was something deeply comforting in the act of routine. The pill bottle sat on the counter—her medication, the promise of progress.
She took the Imatinib, the small tablet a reminder that she wasn't out of the woods entirely, but she was walking in the right direction. She finished her breakfast, rinsed the plate, and picked up her bag again, but this time, she left Lance's coat behind, feeling a strange pang of hesitation as she walked out the door without it.
Her dad appeared from the living room as she reached for the door.
"Already?"
"Just for a bit. Gonna swing by the hospital—Dr. Lance said he had something for me."
He nodded, but his gaze dropped to her outfit. "Is that…?"
"Yes," she said with a grin, "I'm not wearing sweatpants today, I promise."
He raised an eyebrow. "Well, you look stunning. A little like your old self—bright and… well, cheerful."
Lily twirled, letting the hem of her dress flutter. "I know. I felt like I needed to wear something that wasn't all about recovery for once. Something just for me."
He smiled warmly; his voice softer. "I'm proud of you, kiddo."
She felt the weight of his love in those words and smiled back at him before stepping out into the world.
* * *
The hospital lobby was just as she remembered it—bright, sterile, buzzing softly with the quiet hum of routine. But unlike her first arrival here, there was no wheelchair, no tight knot of fear in her chest. Today, Lily walked in on her own, pastel coat flaring gently with every step, her ballet flats tapping lightly against the gleaming floors. She held herself with quiet grace, curls tumbling down her back like a gentle cascade of ink.
The receptionist at the front desk looked up, eyes lighting with recognition. "Miss Storm!" she said warmly. "Back so soon?"
"I'm here to see Dr. Lance," Lily replied with a small smile. "He mentioned a tonic I should start taking."
The receptionist nodded and glanced at the schedule. "Ah, yes—he's just stepped out for about thirty minutes. But he did leave a note saying you don't need to make an appointment. You can wait outside his office if you'd like."
"Thank you," Lily said, giving a polite nod. She turned toward the familiar hallway, the one she knew by heart now.
As she passed through the corridor, several nurses spotted her, their expressions lifting with recognition and warmth.
"Lily!" Nurse Ayesha beamed, hurrying over with her signature colorful scrubs and a clipboard in hand. "Look at you! Out and about like a whole flower in bloom."
Lily chuckled. "Trying to be. It's the coat, isn't it?"
Ayesha grinned. "That sundress and coat combo? Girl, you're looking like a painting. We missed your energy around here."
Dr. Kael emerged from a room nearby, pushing up the sleeves of his white coat. "Miss Storm," he greeted with a wry smile. "Back for another stay, or just harassing our staff with your charm?"
"Just waiting on a tonic," Lily replied, matching his teasing tone. "Dr. Lance promised."
Kael leaned against the doorframe. "Ah, the miracle tonic. I've heard of it. Supposedly works best if taken with a side of sass and sarcasm."
Lily laughed, and as she did, two more nurses emerged from the break room and immediately zeroed in.
"Lily Storm?" one of them asked, clutching a tablet. "Wait—you're the Lily Storm?"
"Oh, no," Lily said modestly, holding up her hands. "I mean—yes. I write books. Sometimes."
"Sometimes?" Ayesha cut in, mock-offended. "I read The Sound of Falling Stars in two days. I cried. Twice."
"She totally did," the other nurse confirmed. "So, when's the next one coming out? Please tell me you're working on something. We've been passing your books around the nurses' lounge."
Lily flushed, genuinely touched. "I am working on something. Slowly. It's been... a process. But yes. There's another one on the way."
"Well, if you need medical inspiration," Kael quipped, "you know where to find us. I have dramatic anecdotes and unresolved emotional arcs."
More laughter. The mood was easy, bright, a stark contrast to the days she had spent curled in a hospital bed with tubes and monitors tracking her every move. Now she was part of the pulse of the place—not as a patient, but as someone remembered fondly. Someone missed.
"I'll let Dr. Lance know you're here when he gets back," the receptionist called down the hallway.
"Thanks!" Lily waved, then settled on the padded bench outside his office, her smile lingering from all the conversation. The hospital didn't feel like a place of fear anymore. It felt… warm. Like a place of return.
* * *
Dr. Lance returned through the sliding hospital doors, shrugging off the weight of morning meeting and the scent of antiseptic that clung to his coat. He was halfway across the lobby when the receptionist caught his eye and waved him over with a knowing smile.
"Dr. Lance," she said, leaning in as if she were sharing a delicious secret. "Miss Storm is here. She's waiting for you outside your office."
For half a second, his expression betrayed him—just a flicker of startled joy, a brightness breaking across his composed features like sunlight through cloud. Then, just as quickly, he schooled it back into professional calm.
"Thank you," he said with a small nod, his voice steady, measured. But his pace picked up slightly as he turned down the hallway.
He didn't get far before Dr. Kael fell into step beside him, sipping coffee from a chipped mug, eyebrows raised in silent amusement.
"So…" Kael said, stretching the word out. "Is this mysterious tonic of yours medically necessary? Or just a clever little lure for an innocent girl who's not yet aware of the big bad wolf in a white coat?"
Lance let out a short breath through his nose, not quite a laugh. "It's a simple blend of ginseng, astragalus, and a few immunity-supporting compounds. Completely legitimate."
"Sure," Kael drawled. "So is flirtation—when properly diluted."
Lance gave him a side glance. "I'm her doctor."
Kael sipped again. "Mmm. And yet you built her a custom treatment plan, handpicked her attending nurses, and now you're prescribing tonics with poetic names."
"She's recovering," Lance said plainly. "I want to make sure she continues to."
Kael smirked but dropped the subject, peeling off toward the surgical wing with a casual salute. "Careful, Lance. The line between healer and heartache is thinner than your lab coat."
Lance said nothing more as he turned the final corner, the familiar hall narrowing until he saw her—there, right outside his office door.
She sat cross-legged on the waiting bench, her sundress catching the soft overhead light like a watercolor. A pastel coat was draped around her shoulders, and dainty ballet flats peeked beneath the hem of her dress. Her hair was a curtain of cascading black curls, loose and untamed, framing her face like a dark halo. Even seated, she carried an air of bright mischief and effortless wonder.
Her eyes were what caught him most—those astonishingly blue eyes, wide and open, scanning a painting on the opposite wall, lashes dark against her cheeks as she blinked and smiled faintly at something on the painting. From across the hall, he felt the pull of her presence like gravity. The contrast of her vibrant colors against the stark hospital white made her look impossibly ethereal, as though she didn't quite belong to this world.
Carefree looked beautiful on her.
He slowed his steps, letting himself savor the sight of her before he crossed into the moment. A brief inhale. A quiet pause. Then he walked the rest of the way down the corridor, his footfalls soft against the polished tile, each step drawing him closer to the girl who had once been a patient—and who now, without knowing it, had become so much more.
He stopped before her, his shadow stretching across her form. Lily turned her face to look at him, blue eyes blinking wide—then warming immediately into a soft smile.
"Dr. Lance," she greeted, her voice still lightly nasal, though cheerful.
"Lily," he replied, the corner of his mouth tugging upward as he gestured to the door behind him. "Come on in."
She stood, smoothing the fabric of her dress with instinctive grace. As they stepped into his consultation room, the quiet hum of the hospital faded behind them. The door clicked shut with a soft finality, enclosing them in a world of gentle wood grain, herbal scents, and quiet privacy.
Lily perched lightly on the cushioned chair opposite his desk, hands in her lap. She glanced around, admiring the warm hues and peaceful aesthetic of the room before her gaze found his again.
"I forgot to bring your coat," she said with a little pout, brushing a curl behind her ear. "I meant to… but I figured I should wash it first."
She was lying. Of course she was lying. She had folded that coat carefully, left it on her bed like a treasure. But she wasn't about to admit she had slept in it.
Lance leaned a hip against the edge of his desk, arms loosely crossed. He smiled, a little more openly this time. "You can keep it."
Lily's brows lifted. "Really?"
"Consider it a… long-term loan," he said. "Or a gift, if you prefer."
Her fingers toyed with the hem of her sleeve; cheeks tinged with a rosy hue. "Well… thank you," she murmured.
He walked to a small cabinet and retrieved a glass bottle filled with amber liquid—ginseng, astragalus, a touch of licorice root, and something else he hadn't named. Turning back, he handed it to her with both hands.
"Here's your tonic. Take a spoonful every morning for the next week. Boosts immunity, eases fatigue, and helps regulate body temperature," he explained.
Lily took it delicately, eyes dancing over the handcrafted label before she gave a soft chuckle. "The 'Serenity Blend'? You name your tonics too?"
"It helps people take them seriously," he replied, lips twitching.
"Or it just sounds fancy," she teased, cradling the bottle like it was a rare potion. "You always make medicine sound like magic."
He watched her for a moment, then tilted his head slightly, voice softening. "Your voice… it's still a little congested. Everything alright?"
Lily bit her lip, averting her gaze. "Um… I might have slept on top of my blanket last night. Forgot to tuck in properly."
She didn't mention the coat. She couldn't. That part was hers alone.
Lance gave a soft hum, not quite buying it—but not pushing either. Instead, he crossed to the desk, rested his palm against its edge, and looked at her in a way that quieted the room. There was a shift in his presence—something less clinical, more raw. More real.
"I'll be honest with you," he said.
She glanced up, curious.
"I didn't need you to come in for the tonic. I could've had someone bring it to your home, or mailed it. But I wanted to see you."
Lily's breath caught.
He continued, his voice lower now, intimate but still gentle. "Not as your doctor. As a man. A man who's been thinking about the way you smiled the other day, and how you made a hospital bench look like a throne in a painting."
She laughed, startled but flattered, her cheeks flushing again.
"I want to see you outside this hospital," he said, stepping closer. "Just the two of us. Not as Dr. Lance and patient Lily. Just… Lance and Lily. Would you let me take you on a date?"
Lily stared at him, her heart thundering in her chest, the tonic warm in her hands. Her lips parted, but no words came yet. Only that look—bright, stunned, giddy—as if the stars she always wrote about had suddenly tilted in her direction.
Lily was lost in her world for a moment, her thoughts drifting like petals on a breeze. Lance's voice—deep, warm, and slightly rough at the edges—had wrapped around her like velvet, melodic in its sincerity. The way he had asked her out wasn't just kind, it was music.
She wondered, rather irrationally, how truly magical that voice would sound if he ever sang to her. Not just any song—but a love ballad, something old and aching and tender. Would it echo the same softness he had in his eyes now? Would it feel like her stories, like the pages of a love she hadn't written yet but had somehow always known?
She blinked, grounding herself again, still smiling into the quiet hum between them—heart ticking out a hopeful rhythm beneath her ribs.
"Yes, I thought I would need to ask you myself if you didn't," Lily finally replied, her voice soft, almost teasing, but laced with genuine relief. A rosy flush dusted her cheeks as she lifted her gaze to meet his, the corners of her lips curving into a smile that she couldn't quite tame.
He nodded, amused. "Alright, Lily, about tonight—do you mind if I get your number? I'll text once I finalize the reservation."
She pulled out her phone and typed in her number, handing it to him. Their fingers brushed—barely. "Don't stand me up," she teased.
"Never."
She slung her bag over one shoulder. "Okay then. See you later, Dr. Lance."
With a wink and the faintest smile, she walked away.
And for a long moment, he didn't move—just stood there, phone in hand, watching her disappear into the well lit corridor.