Lilia’s car wobbled a little as she pulled up to the hospital entrance.  

Her hands were still tight on the wheel when she typed:  

【I’m here. Out front.】  

Inside, Bix read the message and sighed.  

Moving “quickly” wasn’t really an option; one leg was wrapped in plaster, and his crutches clacked with every uneven step.  

When he finally appeared through the sliding doors, Lilia was already out of the car, opening the door for him.  

He blinked at the sleek black sedan.  

“This car… feels way too expensive for me,” he murmured.  

He stood there awkwardly, wondering what to do with his crutches until she popped the back door open and, without hesitation, tossed them inside.  

“Problem solved,” she said simply.  

He chuckled, half in gratitude, half in disbelief, and slid into the passenger seat.  

The car glided out of the driveway.  

Within seconds, he fastened his seatbelt. Something about her posture—steady but tense—made him uneasy.  

He glanced sideways. “You… don’t drive much, do you?”  

“Not really,” she said, eyes on the road. “A few years, maybe. I just never needed to.”  

He swallowed. “A few years,” he repeated under his breath, already imagining headlines.  

Maybe I should’ve bought another insurance plan, he thought.  

“Hungry?” she asked suddenly.  

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Didn’t eat yet. Hospital food isn’t exactly… food.”  

She seemed about to ask what he wanted, but he spoke first.  

“There’s this little place I always go to. Nothing fancy, but I can treat you.”  

Her mouth curved slightly. “Then lead the way.”  

Lead the way turned out to be optimistic.  

He told her to turn right, but too late—she missed the corner.  

Tried to redirect her left, and they ended up circling the block twice.  

He kept apologizing; she kept pretending not to mind.  

By the third wrong turn, both were half-laughing, half-exasperated.  

Finally, after a maze of side streets, the sign appeared: **Lotus Corner.**  

Bix grinned. “Here. My usual spot.”  

He pointed to the small restaurant with warm yellow lights and a parking lot beside it—an actual one.  

“At least your car won’t have to fight for space.”  

Lilia parked carefully, hands unclenching from the wheel only when the engine stopped.  

She stepped out and exhaled as if she’d just finished a board meeting.  

Inside, the familiar chime of the doorbell greeted them.  

“Bix! You’re out!”  

Emma Klein’s voice carried from behind the counter. She hurried over, still wearing her apron.  

“It’s been weeks! You okay?”  

Bix laughed. “I’m alive, see? Mostly.”  

The place was nearly empty—past dinner rush, the air thick with the smell of soup and toasted bread.  

Lilia took in the small wooden tables, the mismatched chairs, the photos tacked to the wall.  

It all felt foreign and strangely tender, like stepping into someone else’s memory.  

Bix motioned toward a corner booth. “This one’s mine. Always quiet.”  

She nodded and let him handle the menu.  

“You eat spicy?” he asked.  

“A little,” she said.  

“Perfect.”  

He waved Emma over and ordered without looking at the menu—two simple, comforting dishes.  

Emma jotted them down, then glanced between them with a teasing smile.  

“Bringing company this time, huh? That’s new.”  

“Just a colleague,” Lilia said calmly.  

Bix hesitated, then smiled faintly. “Yeah. Something like that.”  

The soft light pooled over the table, flickering against the window glass.  

He watched her glance around, still slightly out of place yet trying not to show it.  

And for a brief moment, he realized—  

their worlds, so far apart, had somehow overlapped in this quiet corner.  

Maybe dinner wasn’t just dinner tonight.  

Maybe it was the beginning of something neither of them had planned for.