The morning after the rooftop, the world felt different.
It wasn't like the movies—no music swelled, no birds chirped extra loud—but something inside Talia felt quieter. Lighter. As if the war she'd been fighting with herself finally paused long enough for peace to slip in.
She loved him.
She said it out loud.
And he said it back.
That should've been enough to keep the doubts away.
But life, of course, doesn't work like that.
Especially not when you're twenty, juggling anatomy flashcards, trauma from your past, and a heart still figuring out what love really means.
By Thursday, the routine cracked.
Talia was halfway through her clinical shift when she noticed Ezra acting… off.
He wasn't responding to her messages, and in lab, he was uncharacteristically distracted, fumbling through a simple dissection procedure. His brow furrowed, jaw tight. He barely looked her way, let alone offered one of his usual nerdy quips.
Talia tried to brush it off at first. Stress. Family stuff. Maybe he needed space.
But the silence itched under her skin.
By the time they met in the library that evening, she couldn't keep it in.
"You okay?" she asked, setting her bag down across from him.
Ezra looked up. "Yeah. Just tired."
It wasn't convincing.
She leaned back, arms crossed. "You've been ghosting me all day. Did I do something?"
His eyes flicked away. "No. You didn't."
"Then what?"
Ezra's jaw twitched. "It's nothing. Really."
"Stop doing that," she said sharply. "Stop pretending everything's fine when it's clearly not."
He shut his book. "You really want to know?"
"Yes, Ezra. I always want to know."
He hesitated. Then—quietly—he said, "My dad's cancer is back."
The words hit like a slap. Talia's heart clenched.
"Oh," she said, voice barely above a whisper.
"He didn't want me to tell anyone," Ezra continued. "He thinks I should focus on school. That 'medicine is my priority,' not him." He scoffed bitterly. "I just— I didn't want to unload it on you, not after everything."
Talia reached across the table and took his hand. "You don't have to protect me from your life, Ezra."
"I know," he whispered. "But sometimes I don't know how to let you in."
She squeezed his hand. "Start by letting me sit with you in it."
—
They skipped studying that night.
Instead, they drove to the lake on the edge of campus. Ezra had been there once as a freshman and called it his "backup peace place." Talia called it eerie.
But when they sat by the water, legs dangling off the dock and silence wrapped around them like a blanket, she understood.
"This sucks," she said plainly.
He laughed quietly. "It does."
"I'm here."
"I know."
And for once, words weren't necessary.
—
The storm came two days later.
Not in the sky—though the clouds were heavy—but between them.
It started small. An offhand comment.
Ezra had forgotten they were supposed to meet at the hospital cafeteria after rounds.
Talia waited for forty minutes, scrolling through her phone, replaying every insecurity she'd buried.
When he finally arrived, flushed and apologetic, she exploded.
"You can't keep doing this!"
"I said I was sorry—"
"It's not just today, Ezra. You've been shutting me out again."
"I'm not shutting you out," he snapped. "I'm trying to survive."
"And what? I'm just collateral damage?"
He recoiled. "Don't do that."
"Don't do what? Call you out for disappearing?"
"I'm not disappearing, Talia. I'm drowning. My dad has months, and I'm watching him die while pretending to care about passing Pharmacology!"
The words hit like gunfire.
And suddenly, Talia wasn't angry anymore.
She was terrified.
For him. For them.
For what grief could do to a love just learning how to breathe.
She took a step closer. "Ezra, I know what it feels like to lose someone and still be expected to function like nothing's wrong."
His eyes met hers.
Raw. Wet. Afraid.
"Then why does this feel like it's breaking me?"
She pulled him into her arms. "Because it is breaking you. And that's okay."
He didn't cry.
But his body folded against hers like someone finally giving in.
Like someone finally letting go.
—
The next day, she went with him to visit his dad.
Ezra didn't ask.
Talia just showed up.
His father, though paler and thinner than she remembered, offered her a smile.
"You must be the stubborn one," he said.
Talia grinned. "Guilty."
"I like that. My boy needs someone who'll keep him on his toes."
Ezra rolled his eyes, but his hand found hers on the side of the bed.
They talked about silly things. The weather. Old movies. Football teams neither of them followed.
But it wasn't about the words.
It was about being there.
And afterward, as they walked through the hospital parking lot, Ezra said quietly, "I'm scared of what I'll become if I lose him."
Talia nodded. "Then let me be there to remind you who you are."
He looked at her, like he didn't quite believe he deserved her.
But she looked right back, like she wasn't going anywhere.
—
That night, Ezra gave her a key to his apartment.
It wasn't a grand gesture.
Just a quiet moment where he held out the key on his open palm and said, "For when it gets hard. And I forget how to ask."
Talia took it.
Pressed it into her chest.
And whispered, "Okay."
Because she knew it wasn't about the key.
It was about trust.
About choosing someone, even when everything feels like it might fall apart.
Especially then.