Pulse between us

Broken boundaries

Noah’s POV

It’s easier to avoid her when the hospital is busy.

That’s what I tell myself. Keep the focus on work, the charts, the protocols.

Not the sound of her laugh echoing down the hallway. Not the scent of citrus that lingers whenever she’s near.

I’ve done this before — compartmentalized, controlled, endured. But this time, the cracks are showing.

Every time I see Taliah, it feels like standing too close to something dangerous — not because she’ll burn me, but because I’ll let her.

The meeting runs late.

It’s almost sunset when I head toward the diagnostics lab with the signed forms for the joint review.

The halls are half-lit, most of the staff gone.

Her light is still on.

Through the glass, I see her — hair tied up, sleeves rolled, brow furrowed as she studies a slide. There’s something about her focus that always got to me. The way she disappears into her work, like it’s the only safe place left.

I hesitate at the door. I could leave the folder on her desk and go. That’s what I should do.

But I knock.

She glances up, startled. “You’re still here.”

“So are you.”

A small smile. “Touché.”

I step inside, keeping my tone steady. “Brought the final approvals. Thought you’d need them for the audit tomorrow.”

She wipes her hands on a paper towel, taking the folder. “Thanks.”

Silence. The hum of the machines fills it — too loud, too present.

I lean against the counter, trying to look casual, failing miserably. “You always stay this late?”

“Sometimes. It’s quiet.”

“Dangerous,” I murmur.

Her eyes flicker to mine. “Why?”

Because quiet makes people honest. Because the longer I stand here, the less I can pretend I don’t remember how she used to look at me before the world got complicated.

I shrug. “Too much thinking happens after hours.”

She looks down at the reports. “That’s not always bad.”

“Depends what you’re thinking about.”

She doesn’t answer — but her breathing changes. The air between us thickens, fragile and magnetic.

I take a step closer, before reason can catch up. “Taliah…”

Her name feels too intimate in the empty lab. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. Just watches me — like she’s waiting for me to do the thing we’ve both been pretending not to want.

My pulse kicks hard against my ribs.

This — right here — is the line I swore I wouldn’t cross.

And yet every second I stay this close, the line blurs.

The folder slips from her hand, papers scattering. Neither of us moves to pick them up.

I inhale, steady but shallow, and whisper, “Tell me to go”

She doesn’t.

And in the space between what’s right and what’s inevitable, something shifts — quiet, reckless, irreversible.

I move closer and her breath quickens. “Tally, stop me before I go further.” Her eyes shift a little at what I called her, I haven’t called her that in years.

“Don’t stop”

That was all I needed to melt. I pressed her body against the edge of her desk, my lips crashing on hers. She tasted like I remembered —sweet, daring.

I tried to take it slow, gentle but all ration flew out the window when she gave a small moan and pressed further into me, feeling needy. My mouth pressed hotly against hers, I could feel the warmth of her waist. In that moment, it felt like I never left her, like we were still together.

“Noah…” she purred when my lips moved towards her neck. I didn’t want this moment to end. She whimpered when I grabbed her thighs, pushing herself into me.

“I miss you, tally”

“I…” the sound of the machine beeping cut her off. As though she just realized what just happened, she pushed me away from her and tried to adjust her clothes.

“I’m leaving” she said, as she grabbed her bag hurriedly.

“Tal…” she left.