The locker room felt cold, the usual hum of the hospital’s activity muted beyond its walls. Mika Yasuda stood in front of her locker, hands trembling as she packed her things into a bag, each motion slow and deliberate, as if it could somehow delay the inevitable.
Her mind was foggy, heavy with the weight of the loss. Chloe was gone. She had lost her sister in the most brutal way imaginable. Mika had been this close to dying, too—she’d almost followed her sister into that dark space. The aftershocks of the trauma clung to her like a shadow. She felt as though she had no choice but to leave.
Every corner of Grey Sloan felt suffocating. The sterile walls, the sound of the machines, the constant reminders of her near-death experience. And the unbearable emptiness of the space where Chloe had once been.
Her fingers grazed over the edge of her scrubs, memories of the countless hours she had spent here—saving lives, healing, connecting. But none of it seemed to matter now. Not when the one person who should have been with her, who should have stood by her side, was lost to her, just like everything else.
The sound of footsteps caught her off guard. She didn’t need to look up to know who it was—she knew who it was. Jules. Always Jules.
“Hey, how did your talk with Bailey go? You—“ Jules stopped, her voice coming to a halt when she saw Mika.
“Mika?” Jules’s voice was tentative, almost afraid. “What are you doing?”
Mika’s chest tightened, but she refused to let it show. She kept packing, eyes focused on the items in her hands, the tightness in her throat threatening to choke her. She couldn’t look at Jules. Not now. Not when she was already so close to breaking.
“Mika, please don’t do this. Please…” Jules’s voice cracked, each word full of desperation. “Let’s just… Let’s just talk about this.”
Mika exhaled slowly, pulling her bags onto her shoulders, the air thick with everything unsaid. She looked at Jules, watching her as her eyes filled more and more with tears.
The weight of her gaze seemed to crush everything Jules had ever believed to be true between them. Mika’s voice came out as a whisper, filled with apology.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, looking away, her voice barely above a murmur.
Without another word, Mika turned and walked towards the door, each step feeling like a betrayal. Jules said nothing—nothing except the sound of her breath, shallow and painful, as she stared at Mika walking away, unable to stop her, unable to make her stay.
Mika stopped in her tracks, her body stiff as though something invisible was pulling her back. Her heart was racing, her mind a whirlwind of emotions she had spent so long trying to bury.
Without thinking, she dropped her bags and turned around. She moved back toward Jules and kissed her. It was soft at first—tentative, hesitant. But as their lips met, it became something more. There was no need for words in that kiss. It spoke everything they had ever felt: love, loss, fear, and a final, painful farewell.
Their foreheads touched as the kiss broke, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Jules closed her eyes, trying to steady herself, her hands trembling as they rested on Mika’s waist.
“I love you,” Jules whispered, her voice thick with emotion.
Mika pulled away slightly, eyes locking onto Jules’s, and the words came out of her mouth like a confession she had been holding onto for far too long.
“It’ll pass.”
The finality of those words hung in the air. Mika’s chest tightened, but she couldn’t stay. She couldn’t let herself crumble, not when she knew that walking away was the only way to save herself.
She took a step back; her eyes never left Jules’ face at first. The rawness in Jules’s gaze, the hurt in the way she was looking at her, broke something inside Mika. But she couldn’t fix it. She couldn’t fix them.
Eventually, she walked away, picking up her bags. Urging herself to leave, because the longer she looked at Jules, the more she wanted to stay. And she just couldn’t.
Before she reached the door, she paused. She looked back at Jules, her eyes soft but filled with a sadness that matched the weight in her heart.
“I love you too,” Mika whispered, a sad smile barely grazing her lips.
And then, without another word, she stepped through the door.
Jules stood there, unmoving, the silence of the room pressing down on her like a thousand pounds. She felt her knees tremble, but she didn’t let herself fall. She couldn’t. Not yet.
Jules’s face was still damp as she stepped out of the locker room, but she barely noticed. Her breaths came unevenly, and her heart felt like it was stuck in her throat. She walked down the halls of Grey Sloan in a daze, her feet carrying her toward nowhere in particular until she saw Miranda Bailey walking briskly toward the elevator. Something inside Jules snapped, a frustration she couldn’t contain bursting through the fog of her sadness.
“What did you say to Mika?” Jules asked sharply, her voice echoing in the hallway.
Bailey stopped in her tracks, turning to face Jules. Her expression was calm, measured, though a flicker of something—guilt, perhaps—crossed her face. “I told her to make the best decision for herself and her family.”
Jules shook her head in disbelief, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. “And now she’s leaving for good,” she said, the words laced with anger and pain.
Bailey exhaled, her voice firm but kind. “Right now, she needs our support.”
“Support?” Jules scoffed, her voice rising with every word. She took a step closer to Bailey, her hands curling into fists at her sides. “You let her go like she meant nothing to you.”
The words lingered in the air between them, sharp and accusatory, cutting deeper than Jules intended. Bailey’s calm expression didn’t falter, but Jules could feel the weight of her own words pressing down on her.
As Jules turned and walked away, the anger in her chest slowly faded into something heavier, more suffocating. Her breathing was uneven, her chest tight. The line replayed in her head over and over again, louder each time. You let her go like she meant nothing to you.
But it wasn’t about Bailey. Deep down, Jules knew that. The words had nothing to do with her and everything to do with Jules herself.
Mika had left. She had walked out of the hospital, out of Jules’s life, and Jules had stood there and let her. She had watched her go, knowing full well that she couldn’t stop her.
It was the most powerless Jules had ever felt, the love she carried for Mika useless against the tidal wave of grief that had taken her away.
And yet, hadn’t Jules done the same thing? When Mika turned to leave, Jules had let her. She hadn’t reached out, hadn’t begged her to stay, hadn’t tried to convince her that they could weather this storm together. She’d just stood there, frozen, watching the woman she loved slip away.
The anger she had hurled at Bailey wasn’t meant for her—it was meant for Jules herself. She had let Mika go like she meant nothing, not because she didn’t care, but because she didn’t know how to fight for someone who had already made up their mind.
Mika had kissed her, whispered her love for her, and then left anyway. And Jules had let her. Because deep down, she was afraid that if she fought too hard, if she held on too tightly, it would only hurt more when Mika eventually broke away. So she had stood there, paralysed by her own fear, letting the person who meant everything to her walk out of her life.
Now, as she walked alone in the hallway, the weight of it all hit her at once. The tears threatened to come again, but she swallowed them down, forcing herself to keep moving, to keep breathing. She didn’t know if she would ever see Mika again, if she would ever get the chance to say all the things she hadn’t been able to say in the locker room.
Jules spent the rest of the day moving through the hospital like a ghost. She kept her head down, her shoulders squared, forcing herself to function as though nothing had changed. Patients still needed care. Charts still needed to be updated. Lives still needed saving. She threw herself into the work with single-minded determination, ignoring the ache in her chest, the hollow space Mika’s absence had left behind.
But the cracks were there, just beneath the surface. Every voice over the intercom sounded like hers for half a second before reality sank in. Every corner of the hospital felt like a place Mika had just been, like she could walk around the corner and find her standing there, smirking like always. Except she wouldn’t.
She wouldn’t.
Jules was rechecking labs for a patient when she heard Blue’s voice behind her, gentle but curious. “I heard Mika left. You okay?”
The question caught her off guard, and for a moment, Jules froze. She turned to face him, her expression blank but practiced, the kind of mask she’d perfected over years of keeping people at arm’s length. “There’s still work to be done,” she said, her tone clipped, almost robotic. The words were flat, stripped of any emotion.
Blue frowned, watching her carefully, his brow furrowed with concern. He hesitated before taking a step closer. “Are you sure you’re—”
“I’m fine,” Jules interrupted, her voice sharp but quiet, her gaze unwavering. The look in her eyes was almost enough to make Blue back off entirely, but there was something in her voice, in the way she said the word “fine,” that didn’t sit right with him.
Still, Jules wasn’t giving him any room to push further. She turned back to her work, her posture rigid, her movements stiff. “I’ve got to go,” she muttered, not waiting for a response before walking away.
Blue watched her retreating figure, the tension in her shoulders and the distance in her voice confirming what he already knew: she wasn’t fine. Not by a long shot.
As Jules walked away, her thoughts churned with every step. She didn’t blame Blue for asking—he was just being kind, trying to be there for her in the way she imagined a friend should. But she couldn’t handle kindness right now. She didn’t want anyone to see the pieces of her that were breaking apart, the cracks that Mika’s departure had left behind. She just needed to get through the day. That was all.
There wasn’t room for grief, not here, not now. Jules repeated the words in her head like a mantra: There’s still work to be done. There’s still work to be done. If she kept moving, if she kept working, maybe she could keep herself from unravelling.
But the truth was, Jules wasn’t really there. Not fully. Every step she took, every word she spoke, felt like she was watching herself from the outside, detached and distant. She was going through the motions, checking off boxes, doing everything she was supposed to do. But inside, she was somewhere else entirely.
Somewhere, in the back of her mind, she was still standing in that locker room, watching Mika walk away, hearing the echo of her voice: “I love you too.”
Jules couldn’t decide what was worse: getting the “I love you” back or not getting it at all. She’d replayed the moment in her mind more times than she cared to admit, her heart twisting in different ways depending on which part she lingered on.
The kiss. The whisper. The way Mika had looked at her, like Jules was the one thing anchoring her to this world. And then the words. “It’ll pass.”
That phrase rang in Jules’s mind like a bell that refused to stop tolling. The dismissal of something that, to Jules, felt like the most permanent truth of her life. Mika had meant everything to her, and Jules had told her so. But what good was confessing love when the response carried an expiration date?
Then there was the end—the final blow. “I love you too.” A sad smile and a whisper, spoken as if it were a gift Jules hadn’t earned. She had gotten the words she’d wanted so badly, but they came wrapped in goodbye.
To love and to lose.
She turned those words over and over in her mind, the bitter irony of them impossible to escape. Loving Mika had been like standing in sunlight, warm and grounding, everything clear and bright. Losing her felt like stepping into an endless void, cold and directionless, everything slipping out of reach.
She didn’t know which would have been more bearable—if Mika had just walked away without saying it, if she had let Jules wonder, Did she love me? Could she have loved me? The ache of the unknown might have been easier to swallow than the reality of Mika’s parting words.
Because now, Jules knew. Mika had loved her in some quiet, unspoken way. Enough to come back, to kiss her, to say it out loud before leaving. And yet, Mika had still left. Love hadn’t been enough to make her stay.
That knowledge cut deeper than Jules expected. It was cruel, in a way, to be handed something you wanted so badly only to have it torn away. It made Jules question everything about herself, about them. Had she been enough? Could she have done something differently?
She hated herself for wanting the words and hating them when they came. She hated the way her heart clenched at the memory of Mika’s voice, the way those three words felt like both a lifeline and a knife. Because even as she stood there in the aftermath, her chest hollowed out and her mind spinning, Jules couldn’t bring herself to wish Mika hadn’t said it.
Was it selfish? Jules couldn’t stop asking herself that. To have hoped, to have wanted her own confession to be enough to make Mika stay.
She knew what Mika was going through, or at least the edges of it—the unbearable weight of grief, the way it could claw at you from the inside out, leaving no space for anything else. She couldn’t imagine what it had been like to lose Chloe, let alone to nearly lose herself in the process. The wounds Mika carried weren’t just fresh; they were raw and gaping, and Jules understood, intellectually, why she felt like she had to leave.
But still, Jules had hoped. She had hoped that the love they shared—or at least the love she felt—could have been enough to anchor Mika here, to give her a reason to stay when everything else felt like it was crumbling. Was that selfish? To want someone to stay when they were drowning, when every breath felt like a fight for survival?
Jules turned the question over and over in her mind, the guilt sitting heavy in her chest. She didn’t want to be the kind of person who held someone back, who added to their pain by asking them to bear hers. And yet, she couldn’t ignore the quiet ache inside her that whispered, Why wasn’t I enough?
It wasn’t fair. That thought came unbidden, and Jules hated herself for it. It wasn’t fair to Mika, who was fighting battles Jules could barely comprehend. It wasn’t fair to blame her for needing space, for needing to leave in order to heal.
But it wasn’t fair to Jules either. Because she had put her heart in Mika’s hands, vulnerable and open, and she had hoped it would mean something.
And yet, it didn’t.
Jules swallowed hard, her throat tight. Maybe it was selfish to want that, but it wasn’t something she could help. Love had a way of making you believe in impossible things, of planting seeds of hope where logic and reason couldn’t survive. Jules had wanted to be Mika’s reason to stay. She had wanted to be her light, her grounding force, the thing that reminded her that even in the darkest moments, there was still something worth holding onto.
But in the end, it wasn’t Jules’s decision to make. Mika had chosen to leave, and Jules was left with the remnants of what they had built together. The truth was, hope had been the cruellest part of it all—hope that her confession might have changed something, hope that their love might have outweighed the grief and the pain.
And maybe that was what hurt the most. Not that Mika had left, but that Jules had hoped so deeply, so desperately, and it still hadn’t been enough.
The first year without Mika was the hardest. Jules had always prided herself on being able to compartmentalise, to put walls around the things that hurt, and carry on as though she was fine. But there was no compartmentalising Mika’s absence. It was in everything—her mornings, when she reached for her phone only to remember there’d be no texts waiting for her. In her evenings, when she’d instinctively glance at the couch, expecting Mika to be there, only to find it empty. The absence wasn’t just noticeable—it was suffocating.
Work helped. The intensity of residency at Grey Sloan Memorial was consuming enough to keep her mind busy, and Jules threw herself into it with a kind of desperation. The long shifts, the surgeries, the endless responsibilities—they distracted her, if only briefly. But then there were the quiet moments, the rare lulls when her mind wandered back to Mika. It always did.
At first, Jules resisted looking at anything that reminded her of Mika. Her phone became somewhat of a minefield—photos of them laughing during their rare nights off, texts full of inside jokes and silly banter, even the contact saved under “Mika <3” that she couldn’t bring herself to delete. It all felt too raw. Too close. But eventually, curiosity—or maybe longing—got the better of her, and she’d find herself scrolling through those memories late at night, tears stinging her eyes as she tried to make sense of how things had fallen apart.
There were nights when she’d open a text thread and type something out—something simple, like, How are you? or I miss you. Sometimes she’d pour out everything she was feeling, entire paragraphs about how she couldn’t stop thinking about Mika, how she wanted to talk, to see her, to understand why things had to end the way they did. But she never hit send. Her thumb would hover over the button, her heart pounding, before she’d delete the message entirely. Mika had made her choice. Reaching out wouldn’t change anything.
Dating felt impossible. Jules tried once or twice. There was a girl she met at Joe’s, an intern who was smart and funny and kind. They’d gone on a few dates, and Jules had tried to let herself feel something, anything, but every time, she’d find herself comparing her date to Mika. The way they laughed wasn’t quite the same. Their smile didn’t light up a room the way Mika’s did. Their touch didn’t feel like home. Jules broke it off before it got too serious, blaming her busy schedule, though she knew the real reason.
The second time, it was even harder. A nurse, someone Jules worked with closely, had asked her out. They’d gone for drinks, shared a kiss outside the bar, and for a moment, Jules had felt something stir in her chest. But it wasn’t enough. It wasn’t Mika. After that, she stopped trying. The occasional hookup here and there satisfied her physical needs, but Jules made sure they never turned into anything more. She couldn’t bear the thought of letting someone else in, only to realise she still wasn’t over Mika.
Some nights, when the loneliness was too much, Jules would stare at her phone, her finger hovering over the call button. Mika’s number was still there, even though she knew it might not even work anymore. She’d imagine what she’d say if Mika picked up—how she’d sound, what she’d tell her. But the fear of silence on the other end always stopped her. Instead, she’d set the phone down and pour herself a drink, hoping the alcohol would dull the ache in her chest.
The nights were the hardest, but the days weren’t much better. Jules started noticing all the little ways Mika’s absence showed up in her life. The way Joe's felt emptier without Mika’s sarcastic commentary. The way surgical rounds felt quieter without Mika’s dry humour breaking the tension. Even the hospital cafeteria, with its terrible food and worse coffee, reminded her of Mika—of stolen moments between shifts, of shared complaints and conspiratorial smiles. The hallway where they shared so many moments.
Gradually, though, things began to shift. Jules learnt how to live with the emptiness, even if it never really went away. She became a cardio attending, throwing herself into her work with a renewed focus. She built a name for herself, earned the respect of her colleagues, and found a sense of purpose in saving lives. It didn’t erase the pain, but it gave her something to hold onto.
Still, there were reminders. A case that would make her think of a surgery she’d assisted on with Mika. A song on the radio that Mika had once sung off-key just to annoy her. A patient who mentioned their younger sister, and Jules would wonder if Mika was okay, if she was happy. If she was still grieving Chloe.
There were nights when Jules would come home, exhausted from a long day, and stare at the photo of them she kept tucked away in a drawer. It was one of the few things she hadn’t been able to part with—a candid shot someone had taken of them, laughing about something Jules couldn’t even remember now. Mika’s smile in the photo was so genuine, so full of life, that it made Jules’ chest ache just to look at it.
Every now and then, Jules would catch herself thinking about what could have been. What if Mika hadn’t left? What if they’d found a way to make it work? What if Jules had been braver, said more, done more, fought harder? But those thoughts were dangerous, and she knew better than to linger on them. She couldn’t change the past. She could only keep moving forward.
And she did. Slowly, painfully, Jules learnt how to live without Mika. But she never really stopped noticing the absence. It was always there, a quiet ache in the background of her life. She could ignore it, distract herself, even forget it for a while. But it never went away. It was a part of her now, as much as Mika had been.
The news of Simone and Lucas’s engagement came on a quiet afternoon at Joe’s. Jules had been nursing a beer, half-listening to Blue complain about an attending, when Simone and Lucas walked in together, their smiles so wide it was impossible to miss that something was different. Simone’s hand was tucked in Lucas’s, and as they reached the table, she lifted it, revealing the sparkling diamond on her finger.
“We’re engaged!” Simone announced, her voice light with excitement.
The table erupted in cheers and congratulations, Blue pulling Lucas into a bear hug while Jules found herself grinning despite her usual disdain for romantic milestones. Simone turned to her with an expectant look, and Jules stood, letting Simone pull her into a hug.
“I’m happy for you,” Jules said, and to her surprise, she truly meant it.
A few weeks later, Simone cornered Jules in the attending’s lounge. “So,” she started, fiddling with the edge of her lab coat. “I need to ask you something important.”
Jules raised an eyebrow. “Is this about the bachelorette party? Because I don’t—”
“No,” Simone interrupted, laughing. “Not that. Well, not yet. I wanted to ask you if you’d be my maid of honour.”
Jules blinked, caught off guard. “Me?”
“Of course you,” Simone said. “You’ve been there for me through everything. I can’t imagine anyone else standing by my side on my wedding day.”
For a moment, Jules considered saying no. Weddings weren’t her thing, and the idea of writing a speech or organising bridal events made her want to groan. But the look on Simone’s face stopped her. This wasn’t just a wedding—it was a moment that mattered deeply to Simone. And for all the ways Simone had been there for her, Jules owed her this.
“Okay,” Jules said finally. “I’ll do it.”
Simone’s face lit up, and she hugged Jules tightly. “Thank you. It means so much to me.”
Over the following weeks, Jules found herself drawn into the whirlwind of wedding planning. Simone was meticulous, Lucas was laid-back, and Jules fell somewhere in the middle, trying to keep Simone grounded while avoiding getting too involved. But the one thing she couldn’t avoid was the speech.
Simone had insisted Jules write something heartfelt, something that captured the essence of their friendship and her support for the couple. Jules wasn’t a stranger to speeches—she’d given presentations in front of entire surgical teams—but this felt different. It felt personal. And every time she sat down to write, her mind wandered to Mika.
Jules wondered if Mika knew about the engagement. But then she thought about how there had been no contact, no word from Mika in seven years. It seemed unlikely that she’d be in touch with anyone from Grey Sloan, let alone close enough to Simone or Lucas to know about the wedding.
Still, the thought lingered. For a moment, Jules imagined Mika receiving an invitation, seeing Simone and Lucas’s names printed neatly on embossed paper. Would she smile at the memory of them all as interns? Would she feel a pang of nostalgia, the way Jules did when she looked back on those days?
Jules shook the thought away. Mika wasn’t a part of this anymore. It was a fact she had accepted years ago, even if her heart hadn’t quite caught up. This wedding, this speech—it was about Simone and Lucas. It was about celebrating love, even if Jules wasn’t sure she believed in it anymore.
So she set her focus on the task at hand. She wrote about their first day of residency, the bond they’d formed, the way Simone and Lucas brought out the best in each other. But as she wrote, she couldn’t help but think about how she and Mika had once been part of the same story. How, in a different version of events, Mika might have been there too.
Jules wished she was.
The ceremony was perfect. The kind of picturesque event that Simone and Lucas deserved after everything they had been through together. Jules had teased Simone mercilessly during the planning, but now, standing at the front of the crowd, she had to admit her friend had pulled it off.
Jules stood beside Molly and Amelia, her fellow bridesmaids, in matching lavender gowns, holding a bouquet of white roses. Molly was beaming, her eyes fixed on Blue, who sat in the front row with an expression that could only be described as awe. While Amelia was fully focused on Dr. Beltran.
Jules shifted on her heels, her gaze moving to Simone, who was walking down the aisle, radiant in her ivory dress. Her hand rested on her father’s arm, her grip tightening as they reached the altar. Jules couldn’t help but smile at the way Lucas looked at Simone, like she was the only person in the world.
The officiator's voice was calm and steady, his words carrying over the gathered guests. “Love is patient. And love, no matter the time or the place, always finds a way.”
Molly tilted her head toward Blue, her smile soft and full of promise. Simone leaned closer to Lucas, her fingers threading through his as they exchanged a glance that held years of history and a lifetime ahead.
Jules’s chest tightened as the words echoed in her mind. Love always finds a way. She wasn’t sure if she believed that anymore.
Her gaze drifted, almost aimlessly, to the crowd of guests. She scanned familiar faces—Simone’s family, Lucas’ family too, and colleagues from Grey Sloan. And then, her breath caught in her throat.
There, in the third row, was Mika.
Jules’s heart stopped, and for a moment, the entire world seemed to tilt. Mika sat on the edge of the row, her posture as composed as ever, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Her hair was pulled back, a few loose strands framing her face, and she wore a navy dress that made her look timeless and elegant.
She was older now, her features sharper, more mature. But those eyes—those dark, thoughtful eyes—were exactly the same.
Jules stared, frozen in place, unable to tear her gaze away. Mika was here. At Simone and Lucas’s wedding. She looked calm, almost at ease, like she belonged here, as though seven years hadn’t passed since Jules last saw her walk out of her life. The moment stretched endlessly, the ceremony fading into a blur around her. Jules didn’t know what to feel. Shock, confusion, anger, and relief—they all tangled together, fighting for dominance.
Mika must have felt Jules’s eyes on her because she looked up, meeting her gaze.
Jules’s breath hitched. For a split second, she thought about looking away, about pretending she hadn’t seen her. But she couldn’t. Mika’s expression was unreadable, her lips pressed into a soft line, but there was something in her eyes—something Jules couldn’t name but had felt before.
The last time Mika had looked at her like that was in a hospital locker room, with three words on her lips and a goodbye in her step.
Jules’s chest tightened. She hadn’t prepared for this, for the way seeing Mika again would open a floodgate of emotions she thought she had long since buried. She thought she had moved on, but the ache in her heart now told her otherwise.
Mika held her gaze for a moment longer before lowering her eyes, her expression unreadable. Jules swallowed hard, gripping her bouquet tighter, willing herself to focus on the ceremony. But no matter how hard she tried, the only thing she could think about was the woman sitting in the third row and the years that stretched between them like an unspoken question.
Love always finds a way, the officiator said again, his voice steady and sure.
Jules wasn’t sure if it was hope or fear blooming in her chest, but one thing was certain: Mika’s presence in this moment felt like fate.
Jules forced herself to take a deep breath, grounding herself in the moment. She couldn’t fall apart, not here, not now. This was Simone and Lucas’s day, and no matter how much her world had tilted at the sight of Mika, she wasn’t going to ruin it.
She focused on the couple in front of her, the way Lucas looked at Simone like the entire universe revolved around her. It was grounding, in a way, watching them exchange quiet smiles as the officiator continued to speak. Jules straightened her shoulders, shifting her bouquet in her hands as she let the words wash over her.
“Marriage is a promise,” the officiator said, his voice warm and steady. “A promise to support, to honour, and to love—through joy and through pain, through every season of life. Simone and Lucas, your love is a testament to the power of connection and the strength that comes from facing life’s challenges together.”
Molly nudged Jules gently with her elbow, her grin soft and knowing. Jules managed a small smile in return, though her mind was still reeling. She glanced out at the guests again, avoiding the third row this time, forcing herself to stay in the present.
The ceremony continued, every word steeped in warmth and hope. Simone’s vows were heartfelt and eloquent, her voice steady as she spoke about how Lucas had changed her life. Lucas’s were simpler but no less sincere, and Jules had to fight the lump that rose in her throat when his voice cracked near the end.
When the words, “I now pronounce you husband and wife,” were finally spoken, the crowd erupted in cheers. Lucas leaned in, cupping Simone’s face as he kissed her, and the joy radiating from them was almost blinding.
Jules clapped along with the rest of the guests, her smile genuine despite the whirlwind of emotions inside her. As Simone and Lucas turned to face the crowd, hands clasped tightly together, their happiness was infectious. Jules could feel it in the air, and for a moment, it was enough to push everything else aside.
The music swelled, and Jules fell into step with Molly and Amelia as they exited the altar, leading the way back down the aisle. She kept her gaze forward, focused on the path ahead, not daring to glance back toward the guests.
But even as she walked, her mind refused to quiet. She could still feel the weight of Mika’s gaze, the lingering presence of her in the crowd, like an anchor pulling her back to something she wasn’t sure she was ready to face.
As Simone and Lucas followed, arm in arm, the guests rose to their feet, applauding and cheering for the happy couple. The energy was palpable, and Jules let it carry her, let it distract her. But no matter how much she tried to immerse herself in the moment, she couldn’t shake the quiet hum of anticipation in her chest.
Mika was here. And now that Jules had seen her, she knew the rest of the day would be shaped by that single, unshakeable fact.
Jules stood there, glass in hand, trying to keep her composure as the weight of her words felt heavier than she anticipated. The room was expectant, everyone waiting for the maid of honour to speak, to say something profound or heartfelt. And she would. She would give Simone and Lucas that, just like she always had for them.
“Simone and I… we met on our first day of residency,” Jules began, her voice steady. She paused, smiling faintly as the memory came back. “Simone was late. Very late. And honestly, we were all pretty nervous. But when she finally walked in, looking half-distracted and apologetic, I couldn’t help but smirk. I remember thinking, ‘Here’s someone who has no idea how to handle this,’ but Simone—you’ve always had this thing, haven’t you? This ability to make the best of the worst situations. You made sure to take care of everyone.”
Jules’s gaze softened as she turned to face her friend. Simone was sitting next to Lucas, her fingers twined with his, her face flushed with happiness, the love radiating from her so easily. It was easy to forget how far they had all come, how much time had passed.
“And Lucas,” Jules continued, looking at him with a small grin, “you seemed like you had it all together from the start. I remember thinking, ‘How is this guy so damn confident?’ and 'He actually seems... annoying.' But we all saw that side of you—your heart, your dedication, your willingness to do whatever it took to make sure Simone felt supported. It was no secret you went your own way sometimes; I remember we all fought to save your job, to fight for you. And I’m glad we did.”
Simone smiled at that, squeezing Lucas’s hand as if to remind him she knew exactly what Jules meant. They’d been through everything together and had come out stronger, more certain of what they had. Jules envied that certainty, that ease, that love that seemed to come so naturally to them.
“And through all the chaos,” Jules continued, “Simone and Lucas have been there for me. They’ve been the ones who wouldn’t stop pestering me until I finally let them in—until I told them about my past, my failures, my fears. You two made sure I didn’t stay lost in myself.” Jules smiled, though it was bittersweet, as she tried to make peace with the shadow Mika’s absence left behind. She blinked, her throat tight. “You’ve been there through my worst, and that means more to me than words can say.”
She took a long, steadying breath, letting the words hang in the air before she began to speak again. This time, her voice faltered slightly.
“And love,” she said, almost to herself, her voice quieter now, “Love is… It’s complicated. It doesn’t always make sense. It doesn’t always turn out the way you want, even when you fight for it, even when you feel like you’ve given it everything you have. I’ve learnt that the hard way.”
Her thoughts began to race, the truth of her own emotions threatening to slip through the cracks. She thought of Mika, of the years that had passed, of the unspoken words between them. Was that love? Jules wondered. She still didn’t know the answer, but something deep inside her tugged with the weight of it. The unresolved, aching truth.
“I think…” Jules’s voice wavered. “I think love is about finding someone who makes you better, even when it feels impossible.” She looked up, her gaze searching the room, before it finally fell on her.
There she was, in the far corner of the room, sitting around a far table. Mika.
Jules’s breath hitched in her chest as she tried to calm herself, forcing her heart to slow. It wasn’t like the old days. There was no sense of desperation anymore, no unfinished business to resolve. But the sight of Mika after all this time stirred something in her, something raw and tender and impossibly complicated.
For a moment, she just stared. Her eyes locked with Mika’s, and something passed between them—something unspoken, but deeply felt. Jules felt her throat tighten. It was like time had folded back on itself, and she was standing there, looking at the woman who had once meant the world to her. She hadn’t realised how much she’d missed Mika until this very moment.
Shaking herself out of her reverie, Jules turned back to Simone and Lucas, the words she needed to say finally coming back to her.
“And it’s very obvious that you have found that love within each other,” Jules said, her voice soft but steady, her gaze never leaving Simone. “And I hope you two always find your way back to each other, no matter what. Because that’s what real love is. It’s staying, even when it’s hard. Even when it hurts.”
And in that moment, as she looked at Simone and Lucas, she knew that whatever happened next, whatever words were left unspoken between her and Mika, she would always cherish the love that had been given to her over the years. It might not always look the way she imagined, but it was there, in the warmth of this moment, in the people she had loved and lost.
As the clinking of glasses began again, signalling the end of her toast, Jules allowed herself to smile, her heart full, though it still ached in places she hadn’t expected. For a brief second, she let herself imagine what it would be like to see Mika again, to speak the words they both needed to hear, and to finally heal.
But for now, she focused on the present—the love that was blooming around her, the joy Simone and Lucas had found—and let that be enough.
Jules sat back down at the table, feeling the weight of the conversation still hanging in the air. Simone and Lucas both turned toward her with gratitude in their eyes, and she offered them a small, almost apologetic smile.
“Thank you for doing the toast,” Simone said, her voice light but filled with warmth. “It was perfect. You were perfect, as always.”
Lucas nodded, smiling too. “Yeah, you’ve got a way with words. We love you, Jules. Even if you hate weddings.”
Jules chuckled softly, the smile not quite reaching her eyes. “I do, but I adore you two more.” She looked at them both, trying to push the heaviness from her chest. She adored them. She was happy for them. That’s what mattered right now.
Simone’s eyes softened, and she leaned a little closer to Jules, her voice lowering just a fraction. “I noticed you looked at a certain someone.” Her words were careful, as if she didn’t want to tread too heavily on a tender spot. “We’re sorry we didn’t tell you about inviting her. We’ve been in contact for a while, and we both wanted her here. We wanted you here too, so… that’s why we didn’t tell you.”
Jules felt the air around them shift, the weight of Simone’s words sinking in. Her chest tightened slightly, but she didn’t react outwardly. She simply nodded, a small, strained smile playing at her lips. “I understand,” she said, her voice quiet but steady.
Lucas, sensing the delicacy of the situation, leaned forward slightly, his eyes kind but unwavering. “We didn’t want to make it harder for you,” he said. “We knew it might be a shock, but we also knew we couldn’t hide the truth from you.”
Jules sighed, rubbing a hand over her face. “I just… I wasn’t ready. I didn’t expect to see her today, and I don’t think I was prepared to feel…” She trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence.
Simone squeezed her hand, a soft reassurance. “We get it. We really do. But we’ve been in touch with Mika for a while now. For the past four years, actually.” She paused, glancing at Lucas before looking back at Jules. “She asked about you. A lot.”
Jules blinked, taken aback. “She did?”
They both nodded, offering a small smile.
The idea that Mika had been asking about her for all these years stirred something deep inside her, something she hadn’t let herself think about in a long time. She pressed her lips together, feeling a lump form in her throat.
“I… haven’t heard from her,” Jules said, her voice quiet. “Not since the day she left.” She could feel the pain of those words, the hurt of a time she didn’t want to revisit but couldn’t entirely forget. She looked up, meeting Simone’s eyes. “I thought… maybe she was gone for good, you know? I didn’t expect her to ever come back. Not like this.”
Simone’s expression softened, but Lucas spoke up, his voice gentle. “We know. We thought it was the right time to reach out. We didn’t want to keep you in the dark, but we didn’t want to put you in a position where you had to choose between us and her either. So we kept it quiet.”
Jules nodded slowly, her mind whirling with everything she hadn’t known. But then she took a deep breath, the weight of the conversation pressing in on her. She wasn’t ready to unpack all of this—not today, not now. She forced a smile, her gaze flicking back to Simone and Lucas.
“Right,” she said, trying to shift the energy back to something lighter, “well, we’ll save that conversation for another day.” She looked around the room at the smiling guests, the joyful atmosphere. “Today is about you two. About celebrating you and Lucas. This day is about your love, your happiness. And I’m here for that.”
Simone smiled warmly, gratitude filling her expression. “Thank you, Jules. That means a lot.”
Jules’s eyes softened, her gaze flicking toward the dance floor, where couples were beginning to move. She turned back to them, her voice a little more upbeat. “And now, it’s time for you two to get on that dance floor and show everyone how it’s done.”
Simone and Lucas exchanged a glance, their smiles matching the excitement in their eyes. “Come join us,” Simone said, her voice light. “Come have fun with us.”
Jules nodded, her smile genuine now, even though there was still a weight in her chest. “I will. Just give me a minute,” she said, her voice almost playful.
As they got up, heading toward the dance floor, Jules stayed behind for a moment, her eyes briefly flicking to Mika, who was talking to a few guests near the edge of the room. The sight of her still caused something to stir in Jules’s chest, but she took a deep breath and forced herself to focus on the moment at hand.
It wasn’t the right time, she told herself. There would be time for that conversation later. Today was about love—about the kind of love that had brought Simone and Lucas together. She wasn’t going to let anything ruin this for them. Not today.
Jules stood up from the table, brushing off the remnants of the conversation that still lingered in the air like an unspoken tension. Her heart was heavy, but she had a job to do: be present for Simone and Lucas, show them that despite everything, she was here for them, for their happiness.
She made her way toward the dance floor, but her steps were slower than usual, as if every movement was deliberate, careful. Her eyes kept darting to Mika, who was still on the outskirts of the crowd, talking with a few people. Jules couldn’t help but notice the way Mika’s laughter filled the space, how effortlessly she seemed to blend in with the others.
But that was Mika, wasn’t it? Effortlessly charming, effortlessly beautiful, effortlessly moving through life while Jules had always felt like she was stumbling through her own.
Her mind flashed back to the last time she’d seen Mika—seven years ago, in that locker room. The kiss. The words that followed.
Jules shook her head, focusing on the present. She couldn’t let herself dwell on things she couldn’t change. Not right now. She couldn’t lose herself in what-ifs and maybes.
When she reached the dance floor, Simone and Lucas were already moving to the beat of the music, their hands clasped together, their smiles wide. Jules watched them for a moment, the way they fit together so perfectly, the way their love radiated off them like a beacon.
She was happy for them. She was.
“Come on, Jules,” Simone called over to her, a playful smile on her face. “Don’t make us dance without you!”
Jules hesitated for a second, but then, with a small nod, she made her way toward them. The music seemed louder now, filling the space between her and everything she was avoiding.
Simone grabbed her hand, pulling her into the dance with them. Jules found herself laughing, even as her heart was still tangled with the mess of emotions she hadn’t yet sorted through. She was doing her best to forget about Mika, to focus on what mattered now, on what was right in front of her.
But in the back of her mind, she couldn’t stop thinking about what Simone had said earlier—about how they had been in contact with Mika for four years, about how they had wanted to bring her here, about how they had thought it was the right time.
Jules caught a glimpse of Mika again, still standing off to the side, her gaze seemingly caught in a conversation with someone else. Jules’s breath hitched in her chest before she forced herself to look away, her focus snapping back to Simone and Lucas. They were laughing, enjoying the music, their bodies moving in perfect harmony.
Jules’s body moved with them, her feet keeping rhythm, but her mind was elsewhere, lost in the haze of emotions she hadn’t processed yet. The love she had lost, the love that had never quite left, and the lingering question of whether it would ever truly pass.
She glanced at Simone, who was now twirling happily in Lucas’s arms. Simone caught her eye and smiled warmly, motioning for her to join in the spin. Jules hesitated for a second, then did as she was asked, letting herself get swept into the joy of the moment, if only for a while.
The music continued, the lights flashing around her, and for a fleeting moment, Jules felt as if everything was normal again. As if she could forget about Mika, about the ache in her chest, and just live in the moment. Just for tonight.
But the ache didn’t disappear. It never did.
Jules stood on the edge of the dance floor, trying to stay present as Lucas and Simone spun and laughed together under the warm glow of the lights. She was clapping along, smiling faintly, but her gaze kept darting toward Mika. Jules hated how her chest tightened every time their eyes almost met, only for Mika to look away before it happened.
Lucas appeared by her side suddenly, his face flushed with happiness and just a little bit of wine. He leaned in close, his voice low but firm. “Go talk to her.”
Jules blinked at him, startled. “What?”
Lucas tilted his head toward the door that led to the garden outside, where the string lights gave the darkened space a glow. “Mika. She just walked out there. Go talk to her.”
His voice carried the kind of calm certainty that Jules had learnt not to argue with.
Jules shook her head, laughing nervously. “Lucas, this is your wedding. I’m not—”
“It’s our day,” Lucas interrupted, his grin widening slightly, “and that means you have to listen to us.” His voice softened, but his eyes stayed steady on her. “It’s now or never, Jules.”
Jules opened her mouth to argue, to say it wasn’t that simple, that she couldn’t just walk up to Mika after seven years and pretend to know what to say. But when she looked into Lucas’s earnest face, she found herself at a loss. He was giving her that same unrelenting look he always had when he knew she was holding back.
“Go,” he said again, nudging her lightly toward the door. “You don’t want to regret this. We’re with you no matter what happens, okay?”
Jules hesitated for a moment longer, her heart pounding in her chest. She wanted to argue, to say this wasn’t the time or the place, but deep down, she knew Lucas was right.
She couldn’t run from this forever. She didn’t want to.
Taking a shaky breath, Jules nodded and stepped away from the dance floor, her legs feeling like they were moving on their own. She didn’t look back at Lucas or Simone. She didn’t need to. She knew they were rooting for her, even if it was terrifying.
When she reached the door, she paused for a second, her hand hovering over the handle. She could see Mika through the glass, standing near the railing, her back to the door. Her posture was relaxed, but Jules could feel the tension radiating from her even from this distance.
Jules closed her eyes, inhaled deeply, and then pushed the door open. The cool night air hit her immediately, soothing her overheated skin. Mika didn’t turn around at the sound of the door opening, but Jules knew she’d heard her. The subtle shift in her shoulders gave it away.
Jules stepped forward slowly, each step feeling heavier than the last. She stopped a few feet away from Mika, her hands clenched at her sides, unsure of how to start.
“Hey,” Jules said finally, her voice soft but steady.
Mika turned around then, her face unreadable in the dim light. For a long moment, they just looked at each other, the years of silence stretching between them like an unbridgeable chasm.
Jules wanted to say something else, something that would break the tension, but the words caught in her throat. All she could do was wait and hope that this time, they wouldn’t let each other walk away.
“Hi,” Mika says, her voice steady but soft, the faintest curve of a smile pulling at her lips. She looks calm and composed, but Jules knows better. She knows the quiet turbulence that always lived beneath Mika’s surface, even when no one else noticed.
Jules swallows hard, her throat tight. She hadn’t thought about what she’d say, hadn’t prepared for this moment, but her words come out anyway. “You look good,” she says, her voice as even as she can manage.
“Thanks,” Mika replies, her tone matching Jules’s, delicate and unassuming. “You do too.”
It’s quiet for a long moment. The faint sound of music from inside the reception filters through the air, but out here, it feels like they’re in a different world. Jules doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know how to breach the gap that’s grown between them over the years.
Finally, she speaks, her voice barely above a whisper. “You left.”
Mika looks down for a moment, her grip on the railing tightening before she meets Jules’s gaze again. “I did,” she says simply, no defensiveness, no excuses. Just the truth.
Jules takes a breath, feeling the weight of those two words settle in her chest. Her voice cracks slightly, but she pushes through. “I missed you. Every day.”
Mika’s eyes soften, and for a brief second, Jules sees a flicker of something behind them—regret, longing, maybe both. But Mika doesn’t respond immediately, and the silence stretches out between them, heavy and full.
”I missed you too.” Mika says, looking down at her hands.
Jules shifts her weight, trying to find something to fill the void. Her voice is quieter when she speaks again. “It’s nice, though.”
Mika looks at her, her brow furrowing slightly. “What is?”
“Knowing you’re, I don’t know, alive? Safe? Okay?” Jules says, stumbling over her words. She lets out a soft, humourless laugh. “I used to wonder if you were okay. If you were happy or if you regretted leaving. And now, seeing you here… I don’t know. It’s nice to just know.”
Mika looks at her, her expression unreadable. For a moment, it seems like she might not respond, but then she tilts her head slightly, her voice quieter than before. “Are you asking if I’m okay?”
Jules nods, her throat tight as she forces herself to hold Mika’s gaze. “Yeah,” she says softly. “Are you?”
Mika exhales slowly, her shoulders falling slightly. She looks away, out toward the garden, as though the answer is somewhere in the trees. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Some days, I think I am. Other days, I don’t know what I’m doing or why I thought leaving was the right thing to do. I tell myself it was for the best, that it had to be that way, but…” She trails off, her voice fading.
Jules watches her, her chest aching at the vulnerability in Mika’s voice. She wants to reach out, to close the distance between them, but she doesn’t. Instead, she stays rooted in place, her hands clenched at her sides. “I thought I’d be angry when I saw you again,” she admits. “I thought I’d hate you for leaving, for not giving me a choice. But I’m not. I’m just… I don’t know.”
Mika looks at her then, her eyes searching Jules’s face. “I’m sorry,” she says softly. “For all of it. For the way I left, for not saying goodbye properly. For hurting you.”
Jules shakes her head, a small, bitter smile tugging at her lips. “It doesn’t matter anymore,” she says quietly. “What’s done is done, right?”
Mika doesn’t respond, and the silence stretches between them once more. It’s not uncomfortable, but it’s heavy, filled with everything they’re not saying.
Finally, Jules sighs, running a hand through her hair. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now,” she admits. “I don’t even know what I want from this conversation. I just… I’m glad you’re okay. That’s all.”
Mika nods slowly, her gaze steady on Jules. “I’ve thought about you a lot, Jules. More than I probably should have.”
Jules huffs a quiet laugh, her eyes glistening in the dim light. “Yeah,” she says. “Me too.”
Mika and Jules stood quietly, still lingering in the raw tension of their conversation. Jules looked down at her shoes for a moment. Mika stood beside her, so close yet so far, her gaze fixed on the distance. It felt like the universe had shrunk to just the two of them, but neither dared to make the next move.
The sound of footsteps broke the spell, Molly’s familiar voice calling out to them again. “Hey! Simone and Lucas are having their first dance. You two better get in here before you miss it!”
They both nodded, sharing a fleeting glance before heading inside. The warm lights and soft murmurs of the crowd enveloped them as they re-entered the reception hall.
Jules and Mika stood side by side, their eyes on Simone and Lucas as they shared their first dance. It was quiet, just the sound of the soft music and the distant hum of the reception behind them. The sight of the couple, so content and in love, brought a bittersweet sting to Jules’s heart.
“They look happy, don’t they?” Jules said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. She didn’t expect an answer, but it felt right to say it. The moment felt charged, like the air was thick with all the things unsaid between them.
“They do,” Mika replied, her voice just as soft, her eyes still on Simone and Lucas. Then, after a pause, she added, “Did you ever meet anyone who made you feel like that? Happy?”
Jules froze, caught off guard by the question. It took her a few seconds to gather her thoughts. She wasn’t sure if she should lie, if she could even lie. So instead, she took a breath, her heart pounding a little harder than it should.
“Yeah,” she said quietly, her voice almost unrecognisable in the space between them. She paused, then let the words slip out like a confession. “You.”
Mika didn’t say anything. She didn’t have to. But Jules noticed it anyway—the way Mika’s breath hitched ever so slightly, the way her hand brushed against Jules’s almost accidentally. It was a fleeting touch, but it was enough. Jules’s pinky finger reacted instinctively, like it wanted to hold on, like it wanted something more. For a moment, it felt like they were right back where they’d been all those years ago, on the edge of something neither of them could quite reach.
But the song ended, the soft music fading, and they were snapped back to reality. The crowd began clapping, and Jules followed suit, her hands moving mechanically.
“Okay, get yourself a partner. Slow dance time for everyone!” Lucas called out from the dance floor, and people immediately began shuffling around, pairing up to join in.
Jules stood still for a moment, her eyes on the dance floor, but her mind elsewhere. Then she turned to Mika, her voice lighter this time, but still carrying the weight of what had just passed between them.
“You have a beautiful woman standing next to you, and you’re not asking her for a dance?” Jules said, her lips curving into a teasing smile.
Mika laughed softly, the sound almost like a release. It felt good, though faint, like a tiny spark. She held out her hand. “Will you have this dance?” Mika asked, her eyes glimmering with something Jules couldn’t quite read.
Jules didn’t hesitate. She smiled, her own hand reaching for Mika’s. “I’d love to.”
Together, they walked to the centre of the dance floor, their bodies finding the familiar rhythm of a slow dance. Jules moved closer, letting her body relax against Mika’s, the steady beat of her heart matching the quiet thrum of the music.
As the lyrics played, Jules closed her eyes for a moment, letting the words wash over her.
"But I realised that I need you, and I wondered if I could come home.”
The words echoed in her mind, and before she even realised what was happening, her forehead gently met Mika’s, the two of them swaying slowly, barely moving. The world felt so small in that moment, like the two of them existed in a bubble of memory and loss, hope and longing.
It was quiet, just the soft shuffle of their feet and the distant sounds of people talking. But the silence between them felt heavy, full of everything they hadn’t said in years.
Jules didn’t know how to bridge that gap. She couldn’t think of anything else to say, but her heart ached with the truth she could no longer keep buried.
Finally, after a long, quiet moment, Jules pulled back and placed her head on Mika’s shoulder. And without thinking, she spoke.
“I still love you,” she whispered, the words slipping out without her even trying. They felt like a confession, like a truth she had never fully allowed herself to admit until now. “I tried to move on, but it was always you.”
Her voice trailed off, and they continued swaying, her words lingering in the air between them. It felt like time had slowed, like they were both holding their breath, waiting for something—anything—to happen.
But Mika didn’t say anything. Jules wasn’t sure what she expected, but the silence that followed felt like a void, one that grew bigger with each passing second.
The song continued to play, the soft, bittersweet lyrics drifting around them, but Mika remained silent, her body swaying gently to the music. Jules’s heart pounded in her chest, every beat aching as she waited for something—anything—from Mika. But there was nothing.
Jules wanted to say more. She wanted to ask Mika why she was silent, why she hadn’t said anything, but the words wouldn’t come. She couldn’t push it any further. Not now.
The quiet between them felt like a heavy weight pressing down on her chest, making it harder to breathe.
Finally, the song ended. Jules pulled away slightly, her hand still holding Mika’s, the touch lingering for just a moment longer than it should have. Her fingers tingled, the warmth of Mika’s skin still burning into her.
They both stood there, silent for a beat, before Simone and Lucas approached.
“Hey, you two,” Lucas said with a smile, his voice cheerful but a little breathless from the excitement of the dance.
Jules forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it was too much to hold up. She glanced at Mika one last time, but the words she wanted to say were still stuck in her throat. She couldn’t stay there, couldn’t keep pretending like everything was fine when it wasn’t.
“Excuse me,” she murmured softly, her voice quiet and unsteady. “I’m just going to go to the bathroom.” She didn’t wait for an answer, not trusting herself to say anything more. Her steps felt heavy as she turned away, heading for the door, but not before she felt Mika’s eyes on her.
She made her way through the crowd, trying to drown out the thoughts that kept swirling in her head. The soft sound of the music, the laughter of the guests—none of it helped. The only thing that occupied her mind was Mika and how much she still wished things could be different.
She just didn’t know how to fix it. Or if she even could.
Jules stood in front of the bathroom mirror, her hands resting on the sink, eyes unfocused as she tried to steady her breathing. The reflection staring back at her seemed foreign, a tired version of herself she hadn’t seen in years. She felt the ache in her chest again, the weight of everything that had never been said, of everything that could never be said again.
She hadn’t cried. Not yet. She wasn’t sure if she could. Her heart hurt too much, and yet it didn’t feel like enough to break her. She just felt… empty. The world outside was still alive with sound, with laughter and music, but here, in this small bathroom, she was suspended in time—alone with the thoughts that wouldn’t stop pressing against her mind.
The door creaked open softly, and Amelia’s figure appeared in the doorway, her presence familiar and warm. She hesitated, then crossed the threshold and leaned against the frame, her eyes scanning Jules’ face with quiet concern.
“You okay?” Amelia asked, her voice gentle, as though she already knew the answer.
Jules met her gaze for a moment before offering a faint, almost bitter laugh. It wasn’t real, but it was all she could muster. “I told Mika I still loved her,” she said, her voice flat, detached. “She didn’t say anything back.”
There was a heavy silence that followed her words, thick and suffocating. Amelia didn’t rush to speak, allowing the quiet to settle between them, the weight of it pulling at the edges of Jules’ resolve. Jules didn’t turn away from the mirror; she couldn’t look Amelia in the eyes just yet. The admission hung in the air, heavy, fragile.
Finally, Amelia spoke again, her voice soft but understanding. “Sometimes that can be the hardest thing to say,” she said, her words careful but not without empathy.
Jules exhaled slowly, the air in the room thick with the weight of Amelia’s statement. She nodded, though it wasn’t in agreement or acknowledgement. It was just… a movement, a way to ground herself, to force her thoughts into something tangible. Her eyes wandered over the sink, the faucet, the shadows in the corners of the room—anything but the reflection of the woman she was trying to convince herself she could still be.
She didn’t cry. She didn’t even feel like crying. It wasn’t anger or frustration anymore; it was just a quiet, gnawing ache. The kind of ache that didn’t need words. It was there, in the hollow parts of her heart, and no amount of talking would fix it.
Amelia didn’t say anything more. She didn’t need to. Sometimes, silence was all there was to offer. Jules appreciated that, even if she didn’t have the strength to express it.
After a long beat, Jules straightened up, wiping her hands against her dress as if to ground herself in something physical. She inhaled deeply, forcing the air into her lungs, and finally, with a quiet nod, she turned toward the door.
“I should get back out there,” she said, her voice steady, though not entirely convincing.
Amelia stepped aside, her expression one of understanding. “Whenever you’re ready,” she said softly.
Jules lingered for a moment, just enough to compose herself before stepping out of the bathroom. As she walked back into the warmth of the celebration, the noise and light of the party enveloped her. But she carried the quiet with her, the silence of everything left unsaid, everything that wasn’t going to change.
The rest of the night unfolded like a blur, the laughter and chatter of the guests mixing with the sounds of music. Jules mingled with others, her interactions polite, her smile never quite reaching her eyes. The noise around her felt distant, like she was hearing it through a thick fog. Every now and then, her gaze would flicker over to Mika, but they never crossed paths again. It was as if they were in two separate worlds, their distance as palpable as the space between them.
Jules didn’t know what she expected—maybe that Mika would approach her, or maybe she’d finally let go of the weight she’d been carrying. But nothing happened. Nothing changed. She couldn’t bring herself to chase after something that felt so out of reach. And so she let the night unfold around her, speaking to friends, laughing at jokes, but always feeling the gnawing absence of something she hadn’t been able to say and something she hadn’t been able to fix.
Eventually, Simone and Lucas stood at the front of the room, smiling brightly, thanking everyone for coming, for the gifts, and for the love. Their voices filled the air, but Jules’ attention drifted, her mind still heavy with the conversation she’d had with Mika, the weight of it pressing down on her chest. It felt like a lifetime ago that they had shared a dance, but the words had stayed with her. The silence had stayed with her.
As the toasts came to a close, the crowd began to thin out. Jules made her way over to Simone and Lucas, who were standing in a quiet corner, their expressions warm but tired from the day’s events. Mika was there too, standing slightly apart, her arms folded as she watched the people around her. Blue was nearby, speaking softly to Lucas. It felt like a quiet moment between the chaos of the evening.
Simone called out, asking Molly to take a picture of the original intern group, and Molly quickly stepped forward, camera in hand. The five of them stood together, their laughter light, the bond of old friendships still tangible. When the picture was taken, Jules and Mika stood side by side, their proximity not lost on either of them. Neither made a move to touch the other, but there was something unspoken between them, an understanding of what had been and what wasn’t yet to be.
The picture was taken, and the guests continued to trickle out of the venue. Only a handful of people remained—Simone, Lucas, Mika, Blue, Molly, and Jules. There was a soft, unhurried goodbye, words of gratitude exchanged, and then, as the last guests filtered out, it was just the five of them left.
Lucas pulled Mika into a warm hug, patting her on the back. “It was so good to see you, Yasuda,” he said sincerely, pulling back just enough to meet her eyes. “I’m glad you came. Don’t let it be another seven years, okay? We missed you around here. I missed you.”
Mika let out a soft laugh, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’ll try, Skywalker. I missed everyone too, especially my brother. Thanks for inviting me. It was… nice to see everyone again.”
Simone stepped in next, wrapping her arms around Mika. “We’re so glad you came. You’ll always be family to us, you know? No matter what.”
Mika nodded, her throat tight as she whispered, “Thank you, Simone. And congratulations again. You’re perfect together.”
Blue chimed in as he pulled Mika into a quick hug. “Don’t be a stranger, Yasuda. And hey, if you ever need a distraction from work, you know where to find me.”
Mika chuckled softly, shaking her head. “Thanks, Blue. I’ll keep that in mind.”
Simone gave Mika’s arm a gentle squeeze. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
“I will,” Mika said quietly, her gaze flickering to Jules for the briefest moment before turning back to the group. “You all take care too.”
Simone smiled warmly, Lucas nodding beside her. “We will,” Lucas said. “Safe travels, Mika."
“Thanks,” Mika replied, her voice softer now. “And… thanks again for everything. Really.”
"And Jules," Simone said, pulling her in for a hug. "We'll see you tomorrow? One last time before our honeymoon."
"You got it, congratulations, guys. I'm happy for you, you know." Jules said, offering a warm smile.
The group lingered for a moment before parting ways, leaving Jules and Mika standing awkwardly nearby as the others walked off.
Jules and Mika fell into step beside each other as the others drifted away, their laughter fading into the distance. The quiet between them felt heavy, but not uncomfortable, as if they both knew there were words neither of them was ready to say just yet.
Mika walked close enough for their shoulders to almost touch but not quite. The cool air outside wrapped around them as they stepped through the large double doors of the venue and onto the quiet street.
Jules exhaled deeply, her breath forming a faint mist in the cold night air. Mika glanced at her briefly, her expression unreadable, then turned her gaze forward, hands buried in her coat pockets.
It was silent as they walked down the street, the cool night air brushing against their skin. Neither of them spoke at first, the words still too fragile to say aloud. Jules, unable to hold back her curiosity, finally asked, “Where are you staying?”
Mika glanced over at her, then ahead again. “I got a hotel room.”
Jules nodded, her thoughts racing. “Can I walk you to it?”
Mika hesitated for just a moment before nodding. “Yeah. Sure.”
Jules felt the presence of Mika beside her, but also the distance that had grown over the years. The soft sound of their footsteps on the pavement seemed to echo in the silence.
“So, uh, how’s work?” Mika asked, breaking the silence.
Jules smiled faintly. “It’s good. I’m a cardio attending now.”
Mika nodded. “Good for you. That’s… that’s impressive. You always liked cardio."
Jules shrugged, not really sure how to respond. Then, she turned to Mika. “What about you? What are you doing?”
Mika’s voice softened as she answered. “I’m a cardio attending too. I work in Chicago. With Dr. Pierce.”
Jules nodded, her heart giving a small, painful tug. “So… that means you’re not staying in Seattle?”
Mika’s expression darkened slightly, and she glanced over at Jules before looking away. “I don’t know. I don’t think so. I have a life there.”
You could have one here. Jules thought. With me.
Jules didn’t press further. She could hear the quiet in Mika’s voice, the uncertainty there, and she wasn’t sure if it was about Seattle or about something else entirely.
They reached the hotel. Jules walked Mika up to her room, the soft clicking of their shoes on the hallway floor the only sound between them. The weight of silence pressed down on them, each step feeling heavier than the last. They reached the door, and neither of them spoke immediately. The hallway seemed too narrow for both of them, the space between them filled with the things they hadn’t said.
Jules cleared her throat, trying to break the stillness. “When are you leaving?” she asked, her voice soft, barely above a whisper.
Mika looked at her, her eyes holding something too familiar, too painful. “Tomorrow,” she replied. “Transplant in a few days—have to be prepared.”
Jules nodded, though the words didn’t seem to register. Her mind was elsewhere, caught in the space where their lives used to intersect.
The silence stretched again, and then Mika spoke. “It was nice seeing you, Jules.”
Jules swallowed, her throat tight. “Yeah,” she said, her voice thick. “It was nice seeing you, too.”
Mika shifted on her feet, and for a moment, it felt like neither of them knew what to do. The hallway, once too narrow, now seemed impossibly wide, the distance between them stretching with every passing second. Jules knew it was late, knew she should leave, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t bring herself to walk away.
“You should go,” Mika said quietly. “It’s late.”
Jules nodded, but the words felt hollow. She took a step back, then hesitated, turning back to Mika. Their eyes met, and for a brief, fragile moment, it felt like time stopped.
Jules reached out, arms trembling, and pulled Mika into a hug.
At first, neither of them moved. The space between them felt like a chasm, their bodies barely touching, but the weight of everything—the past, the pain, the love—hung between them. And then Mika wrapped her arms around Jules, tightening the hold on her. It wasn’t a comforting hug. It wasn’t the kind of hug that made everything feel right again. It was the kind of hug that said goodbye, that said “I’ll always care, but this is the end.”
Jules held on a little longer than she should have, hoping for something more, something that would make all the hurt worth it. Hoping that this wasn't really goodbye. That this was I'll see you later. Mika pulled away first, her hands gently pushing Jules back.
“Goodbye, Jules,” Mika said, her voice barely audible, the words carrying the weight of years, of regret, of everything unsaid.
Jules stood frozen for a moment, her heart pounding in her chest. She opened her mouth, but the words caught in her throat. Finally, she found herself whispering, “Goodbye, Mika.”
She turned away, every step feeling heavier than the last. The hallway felt endless as she walked toward the elevator, her hand shaking as she pressed the button. But then, just as she reached the door, she heard it.
“Jules?”
Jules froze. Her heart skipped a beat, and she turned slowly, not trusting her own voice.
Mika stood in the doorway, her figure small but strong in the dim light. She hesitated for just a moment before she spoke again, her words breaking the fragile silence.
“I still love you too,” Mika said, her voice soft, fragile, and tinged with something Jules couldn’t quite place.
A small, sad smile pulled at Mika’s lips, but it wasn’t enough to hide the pain in her eyes. It wasn’t the kind of smile that made Jules feel better. It was the kind of smile that made her feel like she was standing on the edge of something she could never reach.
Jules felt her chest tighten. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know what to do with those words. All the emotions, all the years, crashed into her at once, and for a moment, it felt like she couldn’t breathe.
But Mika didn’t wait for her to say anything. She gave one last, lingering look, then stepped inside her room, closing the door behind her.
Jules stood there for a moment longer, the sound of the door clicking shut ringing in her ears. She didn’t move. She couldn’t. She stood frozen in the hallway, everything inside her shattering into pieces.
Then, before she could stop herself, the tears came.
Mika still loved her. After seven years, she still loved Jules.
It wasn’t the way she had imagined their reunion. It wasn’t the closure she had hoped for. It was just… this. A final, bitter goodbye, one that left her hollow and aching.
Jules realised that love, no matter how deep, was never enough to fix everything. Sometimes, love was just a goodbye.