Ana sits on the hospital bed, the soft hum of machines surrounding her, and the sharp scent of disinfectant filling the room. Her ankle is elevated, bandaged and resting on an ice pack. The ache, though dulled by painkillers, still lingers at the back of her mind. She shifts, her fingers tapping the side of the bed impatiently, waiting for Sloane to come back to the room.
Everything that happened earlier plays in her mind like a blur. Almost being hit by a car, falling to the pavement, and then looking up to see that familiar face—the same man from the coffee shop. Daryl. She still can’t believe it. What was he doing in that street that led to hers at that hour? Though it wasn't too late, she just couldn't have expected to see someone like that.
The door swings open, and Sloane bursts
