Vince just stared at her.
Moving.
The word echoed in his head, hollow and unreal.
He knew from the steadiness in her voice that she'd already decided. This wasn't a "maybe." It wasn't a discussion.
And yet—
"Isn't there another way?" he started, voice tight. "I can talk to my dad. Maybe we could help with the hospital transfer, or—"
She stepped closer and gently pressed a finger against his lips.
It wasn't harsh. It wasn't dramatic.
It was final.
"We've already made up our mind," Vanessa said softly. "I'm leaving, Vince."
Her eyes betrayed her tone. There was sadness there—real, unguarded.
She had only known him for a short time.
But somehow, in that short time, he had carved out a space in her heart.
A warm one.
A dangerous one.
One she was already afraid she would regret.
They stood there in silence.
Vince's mind screamed at him to say something—anything. To fight. To confess. To ask her to stay.
But the words wouldn't come.
Sadness had a way of paralyzing him.
And he would remember this silence later.
He would replay it in his head, wondering what might have changed if he'd spoken.
They returned to the hospital room.
Vanessa resumed her place beside her father's bed like nothing had happened. She picked up an apple from the tray and began peeling it slowly, the knife moving in careful circles.
The room felt smaller now.
Jasmine stretched and stood up.
"I'm heading home," she said casually, as if this wasn't a life-altering moment. She slipped out without another word.
Vince stayed standing near the doorway.
Vanessa didn't look at him.
She just continued peeling the apple, the thin strip of skin curling down into her palm.
And in that sterile hospital room—
With the steady beep of machines in the background—
The reality of losing her finally settled into Vince's chest.
Heavy.
Unavoidable.
And far too soon.
The blade slipped.
A thin red line appeared on her finger.
Vince reacted instantly, grabbing the knife from her hand along with the half-peeled apple.
"Geez... you can't even peel an apple properly," he muttered, kneeling beside the bed.
His voice softened.
"You're already hurting here... why hurt yourself physically too?"
He didn't realize what he'd just said.
You're already hurting here.
That was all it took.
Vanessa's eyes welled up.
Because she was hurting.
Not just because of her father.
But because she didn't want to leave.
Her whole life, her father's uncontrollably nature and decisions had dragged them from city to city. Just when she started to belong somewhere, just when she found something she loved—art, school, a quiet routine—it was time to leave again.
Here, she had memories.
With Hanna.
With the sunflower fields.
With the amusement park.
With Vince.
And now, because of her father again, she had to let it all go.
Tears slid down her cheeks before she could stop them.
Vince froze.
"Did I... do something?"
She shook her head quickly.
"You didn't."
Her voice cracked.
"Thank you."
She gently took the apple from his hand and placed it back on the tray.
Vince swallowed.
"I'll wait—"
She turned sharply.
"Please don't say that, Vince."
Her eyes were glassy now, vulnerable in a way he had never seen.
"Don't wait for me. Don't let me stop you."
She stepped back slightly.
"I'm just someone you met. You have a bigger role to play here. If we meet again, then we meet again. But don't wait."
Vince didn't hesitate.
"I will."
She stared at him.
"If there's some 'role' I'm supposed to play in this city," he continued quietly, "then I'll refuse it if it means losing you."
Her hands trembled.
"Why are you like this?" she whispered, shaking her head.
Then louder—
"Why are you so lovestruck? Would you follow me to the end of the world?"
Vince met her gaze without blinking.
"I'd give you the whole world," he said, voice steady, "so it never has to end."
Her breath hitched.
"Why are you like this?!" she shouted, overwhelmed.
His answer came without hesitation.
"Because you made me like this."
The hospital room felt too small for the weight of what hung between them.
For the first time—
Neither of them was pretending anymore.