The airplane descent made Zayne's ears pop. He swallowed, adjusting the pressure, and looked out the window at the landscape below.
The sprawling steel and glass of Linkon City had given way to patches of green—farmland, rivers, the countryside spreading out like a watercolor painting.
It had been three months since his grandfather's visit. Three months of twelve-hour shifts, emergency surgeries, and the kind of exhaustion that lived in his bones.
But last week, during their regular phone call, Grandpa Li had mentioned chest pain. Difficulty breathing. Dismissed it as "just old age," but Zayne's medical training had immediately cataloged possibilities: angina, pulmonary issues, cardiac insufficiency.
He'd booked the earliest flight he could manage.
The taxi driver was chatty—commented on the weather, the rice harvest, asked if Zayne was visiting family. Zayne offered minimal responses, watching the scenery change outside his window. Skyscrapers became houses. Houses became farms. Pollution became clear, startling blue sky.
He'd grown up here. Spent fourteen years in this countryside, running through rice fields, chasing butterflies with children whose names he could barely remember now.
Back when he still knew how to play.
Before medical school taught him that life was about survival, not joy.
A yellow butterfly fluttered past the taxi window, and something in Zayne's chest twisted with unexpected nostalgia.
The house looked smaller than he remembered. Same weathered wood, same modest garden, same worn steps leading to the door.
Zayne paid the driver, grabbed his overnight bag, and approached the entranceHe could hear voices inside.
His grandfather's familiar rumble, and... someone else. A lighter voice, feminine, laughing.
Zayne paused at the door, hand raised to knock, and peered through the gap.
The kitchen was visible from this angle. And there, standing at the stove, was a girl.
Small—barely reaching the counter. Dark hair pulled back in a simple ponytail. Wearing a faded shirt and jeans, an apron tied around her tiny waist.
She was making dumplings, her hands moving with practiced efficiency, shaping the dough with care. Flour dusted her cheek. She was smiling at something his grandfather said, her whole face lighting up with warmth.
Zayne froze.
He didn't know why he couldn't move. Didn't know why the sight of this stranger in his grandfather's kitchen made his heart stutter like a malfunctioning organ.
She looked... she looked like she belonged there.
Like she'd always been there.
"Are you going to stand outside all day, or come give your grandfather a hug?"
Zayne jolted. Grandpa Li had appeared in the doorway, grinning widely, arms already open.
"Grandfather." Zayne stepped inside, allowing himself to be pulled into an embrace.
The old man felt frailer than three months ago, his frame thinner. Zayne made mental notes: check weight, check vitals, schedule proper cardiac screening.
"You should have told me you had company. I can come back—"
"Nonsense. Nana's family." Grandpa Li pulled back, eyes twinkling. "Nana! Come meet my grandson."
The girl turned from the stove, and Zayne got his first clear look at her face.
Pretty. That was his first, clinical observation. Large eyes, delicate features, a spattering of flour on her cheek that somehow made her look younger than she probably was. She couldn't be more than twenty, if that.
Then she saw him, and her eyes widened in recognition.
"You're... you're Zayne Li," she said softly, quickly wiping her hands on her apron. "Grandpa's shown me your photos. The—the doctor."
"Yes." Zayne's voice came out more clipped than intended. "And you are?"
"Wang Angelina. Everyone calls me Nana." She bowed slightly—a gesture of respect that made Zayne uncomfortable.
"It's an honor to meet you."
"The honor is mine." The formal words felt stiff in his mouth. He bowed back, equally precise, and they stood there in awkward silence.
This was her. The girl his grandfather talked about endlessly. The one who walked dangerous streets at midnight, who worked herself to exhaustion, who somehow still smiled.
She looked... smaller than he'd imagined. More delicate. Like a strong wind could blow her away.
"Come, come, sit outside." Grandpa Li ushered them both to the front yard, where a small table and chairs waited under the shade of an old tree.
"Nana made dumpling soup. Your favorite, Zayne."
They sat—Grandpa Li between them, chattering happily about the weather, the garden, inconsequential things.
Zayne found himself stealing glances at the girl across from him.
She was nervous. He could see it in the way her hands fidgeted in her lap, the way she kept her eyes down, the slight tension in her shoulders. She looked like she wanted to disappear.
Why? Was his presence that uncomfortable?
Nana served the soup with careful movements, placing a bowl before Zayne with a shyness that made her seem even younger. Their eyes met briefly—just a second—and Zayne saw something there. Uncertainty. Insecurity.
And underneath that, carefully hidden: a deep, bone-tired exhaustion he recognized intimately.
"Thank you," he said quietly.
She blushed. Actually blushed, color rising to her cheeks. "It's nothing. I hope... I hope it's alright."
Before Zayne could respond, she was already standing.
"I should go. I have chores at home, and I promised my mother—"
"So soon?" Grandpa Li's disappointment was obvious.
"I'm sorry, Grandpa." Nana moved to hug the old man, and Zayne watched the genuine affection between them—the way his grandfather's face softened, the way she held him with such care.
"Please finish the soup, okay? And rest. Don't overwork yourself."
"I won't, I won't." Grandpa Li patted her hand. "Will you visit next week?"
"Of course." She smiled—that bright, warm smile that transformed her entire face—and Zayne felt something shift in his chest. Like a locked door cracking open.
Then she was bowing to him again. "It was nice to meet you, Dr. Li. Please... please take care of Grandpa."
"I intend to." His voice was softer than usual. "And you should be careful walking home alone."
She blinked, surprised he knew about that. Then understanding dawned—Grandpa Li must have told him—and she nodded quickly before hurrying away.
Zayne watched her go. Watched that small figure disappear down the dirt road, carrying her worn bag, shoulders straight despite the weight she carried—literal and otherwise.
"She's something, isn't she?" Grandpa Li said quietly.
Zayne didn't respond. He picked up his spoon, tasted the soup.
And froze.
The flavor hit him like a physical blow. Rich broth, perfectly seasoned dumplings, the exact combination of ginger and scallion that his grandmother used to make.
That his mother used to make, back when she still had time for things like cooking, like family, like him.
It tasted like home.
Not the sterile apartment in Linkon. Not the hospital cafeteria. Home. Real home. The kind he hadn't tasted in fifteen years.
His throat closed. His eyes burned. He took another spoonful, then another, mechanically eating while emotions he'd buried for years clawed their way up his chest.
He wanted to cry.
Wanted to break down like the three-year-old boy who used to sob into his grandfather's shoulder, asking why Mama and Baba didn't want him.
But Dr. Zayne Li didn't cry. Dr. Zayne Li was professional, controlled, composed.
So he swallowed hard, bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted copper, and forced the tears back down where they belonged.
"She saved her money to make this," Grandpa Li said softly, watching his grandson's face.
"I mentioned missing your grandmother's dumpling soup. She spent a month saving. Asked the market vendor for the recipe. Made it three times to get it right." A pause. "She wanted you to have some too. Said maybe it would make you feel less alone."
Zayne's spoon trembled. He set it down carefully, precisely, before he dropped it.
"She's the one taking care of you," he said, voice rough. "Not my aunts. Not my cousins. Her."
"She volunteers," Grandpa Li corrected gently. "I have many grandchildren, yes. But they're busy with their own lives, their own families. I don't blame them. But Nana..." His eyes grew distant.
"Nana comes because she wants to. She cooks because she cares. She cleans because she worries. She's given me something I thought I'd lost when your grandmother died."
"What's that?"
"A reason to wake up happy."
Silence fell between them. A butterfly—yellow, like the one from the taxi—landed briefly on the table, then fluttered away.
Zayne stared at his soup.
At this gift from a stranger who somehow knew exactly what he needed, even though they'd just met.
This girl who walked through darkness but brought light to everyone around her.
"The soup is excellent," he said finally. "Medical-grade nutrition, optimal flavor profile, well-balanced ingredients." A pause.
"It tastes like home."
Grandpa Li smiled, tears in his old eyes.
"Yes. Yes, it does."
They ate in comfortable silence, grandfather and grandson, both thinking about the small girl who'd brought warmth back into their lives.
And Zayne thought: She belongs here. With Grandfather. Taking care of him the way I should be but can't.
He thought: She looked at me like I was someone important. Not Dr. Li. Just... someone.
He thought: The soup tastes like love.And for the first time in fifteen years, Dr. Zayne Li—the youngest chief of cardiology in Linkon Hospital's history, the award winner, the robot who never felt anything—felt something crack in his carefully constructed walls.
It wasn't much. Just a hairline fracture in the armor he'd built around his heart.
But it was enough to let a single thought slip through:
I want to see her again.
.
.
.
.
.
To be continued __