Over the next few weeks, Isabella avoided Xavier.
Not abruptly.
Not cruelly.
Carefully.
Her shifts changed when possible. She asked another nurse to cover Room Four when she could. When their paths crossed, she kept things polite, efficient, brief.
Professional.
Too professional.
Xavier noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
He didn't confront her.
Didn't corner her with questions.
Didn't ask Andrea to intervene.
He simply smiled the same way he always had—gentle, understanding, unoffended.
But something in him went quiet.
---
Andrea noticed too.
He always noticed.
One evening, after a long day, Andrea and Xavier sat outside the IT building, takeaway boxes between them, the sky bruised purple with dusk.
"She's avoiding you," Andrea said bluntly.
Xavier didn't look surprised. "I know."
"You're not even going to pretend you don't?"
Xavier smiled faintly. "What would be the point?"
Andrea studied him for a moment, then said, "My sister loves you."
The words fell easily, like a fact long established.
Xavier laughed softly—once.
"Does she?" he asked.
Andrea frowned. "You don't believe me."
Xavier stared ahead, eyes distant. "I believe she cares. Deeply."
"That's the same thing."
"No," Xavier said quietly. "It's not."
Andrea leaned back. "Then what is it?"
Xavier hesitated.
Inside him, doubt had taken root weeks ago.
"She looks at me like someone she's already said goodbye to," he admitted. "Like I belong to a chapter she survived."
Andrea's chest tightened. "You think there's someone else?"
Xavier didn't answer immediately.
He thought of the way Isabella flinched when emotions surfaced.
The way she guarded her heart like a fortress rebuilt after siege.
The way she spoke of love like something that demanded proof before permission.
"I think," he said slowly, "that someone occupied her heart while I was gone. Or maybe the idea of someone did."
Andrea shook his head. "You're wrong."
Xavier smiled sadly. "I hope I am."
---
That night, alone in his room, Xavier replayed every interaction.
Every smile she didn't return.
Every step she took back instead of forward.
Every silence she chose.
He had fought wars.
But this—
This was the first time he felt like surrendering before the battle began.
Because how do you fight a ghost?
How do you compete with years you weren't allowed to live?
If Isabella loved someone else—someone who helped her survive when he couldn't be there—
Then he would have to fight every ounce of jealousy, pride, and regret inside him.
And he wasn't sure he had the right.
---
Across the compound, Isabella lay awake staring at the ceiling.
Avoiding him hurt more than being near him.
But closeness felt dangerous.
Because every time she saw him smile patiently through the distance she created—
She felt herself slipping.
And she was terrified that if she didn't run now—
She would never want to again.