That Sunday evening, Eugene drops by the hospital after calling Julian earlier in the afternoon and finding out about the accident. He arrives with a large shopping bag in hand, filled with items he picked up from Julian's apartment—underwear, socks, skincare products, and Julian's laptop.
"Hey, Julian," Eugene says as he steps into the hospital room, his voice casual but laced with concern.
Julian looks up from his hospital bed, a welcoming smile curling at the corners of his lips.
"Thanks a lot, Eugene." He notices the bulging bag in Eugene's arms. "You got everything?"
"Of course." Eugene sets the bag down and pulls up a chair beside the bed. "Are you alright? What exactly happened? And how long are you staying here?"
Julian shifts slightly, wincing as the movement tugs at his bruised ribs.
"Well… there was a girl. She was about to get hit by a car, so I stepped in." He shrugs as if it's no big deal. "I'm going to be in here for the next five days."
"Wow, I never knew that's how the accident happened."
Eugene takes a seat by the chair beside the bed. He places the shopping bag under the bedside table with care.
"Thanks again," Julian says, his voice warm. "Honestly, who else would I have asked to grab all that stuff for me?"
Eugene waves it off.
"Don't even thank me. Not in this friendship." He leans back, studying Julian's face. "But seriously, tell me more. How's the girl? Is she just some random stranger?"
Julian hesitates, the truth lingering on the edge of his tongue. But he knows he'll tell him—he always does.
"Well…" He exhales slowly. "It's that girl. The one I told you about."
Eugene's eyes widen—impressive, considering how small they usually are.
"Wait. You mean…"
Julian nods, blunt as ever.
"Yes. Grace. Grace Silver."
Eugene's eyebrows lift.
"And where is she now?"
"She went home."
"Oh…"
Eugene leans back, processing.
Julian shrugs like it's nothing, but there's a flicker in his eyes.
"So she's probably coming again tomorrow, right?" Eugene asks with a sly grin.
Julian pauses, remembering how he told her not to come. How she nodded like she understood. A faint smirk plays on his lips as he shakes his head.
"No. I don't think she's going to come."
Eugene squints at him teasingly.
"Well… let's see about that."
Julian chuckles, then seizes the moment to change the subject.
"And how's the proposal prep going?"
"Oh, that?" Eugene perks up. "Yeah, I contacted the prop store, and…"
As Eugene begins to explain the process in detail, his voice animated, Julian listens quietly, grateful for the distraction—and the company.
Meanwhile, at the evening worship service, Grace sits quietly in the pew, hands clasped tightly in prayer. Her eyes are closed, her brows gently furrowed.
"Please… please heal Professor Julian," she whispers from the depths of her heart.
She knows there's nothing she can do for him physically right now. All she has is prayer—and she pours everything into it.
That night, as she returns home under the quiet glow of streetlights, Grace slips out of her shoes, hangs up her coat, and sits down at her desk. She checks her email on instinct, not expecting much. But there it is—an email from Professor Julian, addressed to the entire class.
It's a simple message. Due to a personal matter, this week's classes will be postponed.
Grace exhales a small, sad sigh, her shoulders slumping.
She stares at the screen for a moment before murmuring to herself, "I'm really sorry, Professor…"
Her mind replays the moment like a broken record, again and again.
"If only I could go back to that moment," she says under her breath. "I wouldn't have stepped onto the street while the light was still red. I was so dumb… What was I even thinking about…"
She shakes her head, scolding herself silently. But even through her self-blame, a longing rises in her chest.
She wants to see him.
Even though she visited him this morning—just before she left the hospital—she still wants to see him again. Just to know he's okay. Just to be near him.
But then she remembers his voice. Clear. Calm. Distant.
"You don't need to drop by anymore."
That was what he said. Blunt. Unmistakable.
Grace stares out the window. The moonlight spills gently into her room, casting soft shadows on the floor. She crosses her arms and hugs her knees close to her chest.
"Okay. I'm not going," she says out loud to the quiet room, as if trying to convince herself.
But her heart… her heart isn't so sure.
That night, the soft glow of a small lantern bathes the hospital room in gentle amber light. Julian leans back against the propped-up bed frame, a novel resting in his lap. The bandage that had wrapped around his head was removed earlier—just before dinner—and he feels lighter without it, though the weight of the cast on his left leg and wrist is still ever-present, a quiet reminder of the accident.
The room is still. Outside, faint city sounds hum beneath the silence.
He's completely absorbed in the story, flipping through the pages slowly, deliberately. Reading has always helped him escape, helped him breathe. But just as he turns another page, a thought breaks through the quiet rhythm.
Grace.
Her name comes uninvited, yet not unwelcome. He exhales, lowering the book slightly and turning his head toward the bedside table. His phone rests there. He taps the screen.
A few new messages light up the display—texts from faculty members responding to his notice about the postponed classes, polite well-wishes, some casual concern. Lena has texted, too.
He scrolls down through the notifications, almost unconsciously. But there's nothing from Grace. No message. Not even a missed call.
So… she's really not going to come, I guess.
His lips press into a flat line, something tight and unspoken in his chest.
And then—another notification slides in.
The words catch him off guard.
Julian blinks, reading the message again, slower this time.
He quietly types his reply.
He taps send, then gently sets the phone back on the table.
His gaze drifts to the window. The night sky stretches far beyond the glass, stars scattered like scattered thoughts—beautiful and unreachable. Something in him stirs.
He wants to run.
Run to the riverside, the place he always goes when the world feels too heavy. He wants to feel the wind against his face, to breathe in the cold air, to shake off this strange uneasiness that's settled deep within him—especially now that he's admitted to himself how he feels about Grace.
But he can't run. Not like this. Not physically.
And maybe—maybe not emotionally either.
Because some things, he realizes, can't be shaken off. No matter how far he runs.
That night, Grace quietly slips into her mother's room, the soft patter of her footsteps barely audible on the wooden floor. Without a word, she crawls into the bed beside her, pulling the blanket up to her chin as if seeking warmth—or courage.
Her mother looks up from the book she's been reading and sets it down on her lap.
"Hey, Grace," she says gently, sensing something in her daughter's presence.
"Mom…" Grace mumbles, lying on her side, her voice barely above a whisper.
Her mother turns to face her.
"Did you drop by your professor's hospital today?"
Grace hesitates, her eyes flickering with guilt.
"No," she replies after a pause. "Do I have to?"
Her mother frowns slightly, not out of judgment but concern.
"I mean… it's not mandatory, of course. But he did get hurt because of you, didn't he? So… it would've been nice. Thoughtful."
Grace bites her lip, not knowing how to respond. The guilt weighs heavier now.
"It's just…" she murmurs, "Professor Julian told me not to come."
"Oh," her mom says, surprised. "He did? Then never mind."
She reaches for her book again, flipping it open with one hand.
But Grace gently tugs at her arm.
"Mom… you know…"
Her mother hums in response, already sinking back into her story.
"I think I like him."
The words land in the room like a quiet confession—and immediately, the book is closed again.
Her mom turns to her fully this time, looking at her daughter now resting on her back, eyes staring up at the ceiling. Dressed in a simple gray t-shirt, Grace looks like a child again—but her voice carries the weight of a young woman trying to make sense of her heart.
"You mean… as a man?" her mother asks carefully.
Grace nods, slow and sure.
"Well… wow," her mother says, blinking.
Clearly, she hadn't expected this turn.
"I've been feeling something since the beginning," Grace admits, her voice fragile but earnest. "But I didn't tell you because… I wasn't sure if it was okay. I didn't even know what it was. But now… it's to the point where I can't pretend I don't feel it."
Her mother sits up slightly, resting her hand on Grace's blanket-covered arm.
"Tell me everything."
And Grace does.
Beneath the soft silver wash of moonlight streaming through the window, she begins. She tells her mother about how they met, how Julian reminded her of the boy in her dream—the one who saved her. She talks about his kindness, his aloofness, his unexpected gentleness, and all the confusing moments in between. Every emotion, every doubt, every flutter in her chest—she lets it all out.
Her mother listens quietly, her presence steady and safe. She doesn't interrupt. She simply absorbs, heart wide open to every word her daughter shares.
The night passes gently, the stars twinkling quietly outside the window as mother and daughter lie side by side.