The morning after our talk at the bookstore, something felt… different. Not in a dramatic way, but in the tiniest, subtlest shifts. Like how James sent a good morning text with a little coffee emoji. Or how I caught myself smiling at it longer than I should've before replying.
But I didn't want to overthink it. I'd learned the hard way that expectations can sting if they bloom too fast. So I kept things steady—school, rounds, labs. The world didn't pause just because someone made your heart skip a little.
That weekend, the hospital hosted a community health fair. Every intern had a role—from checking vitals to handing out flyers and giving mini talks on healthy living. It was supposed to be light and educational. Low pressure. But somehow, I was asked to co-lead a Q&A session on women's health with two senior residents and… James.
"Guess we're a team again," he said, grinning when we met outside the auditorium.
"Again?" I teased. "Pretty sure I carried you through the last bio lab."
He raised a brow. "Wow. The confidence."
"You taught me well," I smirked.
The event itself flew by. We answered questions, handed out pamphlets, and guided nervous teenagers and their worried moms. And even though I was nervous at first, once I started speaking, I forgot about the crowd. I was just Charlotte—future doctor, not the invisible girl hiding in library corners.
After the crowd cleared, James and I found ourselves alone, putting away leftover materials.
"You were really good up there," he said, voice lower now, more serious.
"Thanks," I replied. "You too."
We stood there, surrounded by empty chairs and half-deflated balloons, an awkward kind of quiet settling over us.
"I like this version of you," he said suddenly. "The one who doesn't second-guess every word she says."
I blinked. "This version?"
He stepped closer. "The real one. The one who knows her worth."
I should've said something back. Something witty or strong or even vulnerable. But I froze. My heart beat too loud in my ears to think straight.
So instead, I gave a soft smile and said, "Took me a while to find her."
And for a moment, it felt like maybe—just maybe—he was looking at me the way I used to look at him.
Later that night, I FaceTimed Sophie. She looked glowing in her little New York apartment, framed by fairy lights and a skyline behind her.
"You look… suspiciously happy," she said, squinting.
"Do I?"
"Spill it."
So I told her everything—the health fair, the text, the quiet moment.
"I knew it," she grinned. "He's catching feelings."
"I don't know… maybe. I just want to take it slow. No confessions. No crowds. Just… slow."
Sophie nodded. "Smart. Protect that heart, but don't close it off."
And just like that, my chest felt lighter.
Maybe I didn't need grand gestures or perfect timing. Maybe what I needed was this—slow-burning certainty, real connection, and friendships that held you steady no matter what.
The shift had started. I could feel it.
And this time, I wouldn't hide from it.