Pulse between us

Unsaid goodbyes

Taliah’s POV

The air in the conference room feels heavier than it should. Maybe it’s the fluorescent lights, or maybe it’s the fact that I haven’t taken a proper breath since I saw him standing in the hallway.

Noah Carter.

The name rings in my head like a quiet echo I can’t silence.

He’s at the far end of the table now, reviewing a stack of files, pretending he doesn’t notice me. Pretending like we’re strangers.

The HR officer drones on about hospital policy, code of conduct, and new departmental alignments. Her voice sounds distant, like it’s coming from underwater.

I focus on my notepad, but all I see are flashes of the past — laughter in lecture halls, rain-soaked walks home, the sound of his voice saying my name like it meant something.

I blink hard and return to the present. Professional. Unbothered. Just another day.

Across the table, Riley nudges me discreetly.

“Is it just me,” she whispers, “or is the new guy—”

“—a radiographer,” I interrupt quickly, keeping my eyes forward. “Focus, Riley.”

She grins, unbothered. “Right. Radiographer. With cheekbones that could cause workplace distractions.”

I shoot her a look, but she only shrugs.

The HR officer clears her throat. “Mr. Carter, you’ll be collaborating closely with the Laboratory Department on all imaging correlations and diagnostics. Dr. Monroe, that includes you.”

My stomach twists.

Of course it does.

I manage a polite nod. “Understood.”

Noah finally looks up. His eyes meet mine for the first time in four years.

Cool. Controlled.

But I catch it — that flicker. The one he hides behind composure.

“Good to be here,” he says evenly, voice deeper than I remember.

Something inside me stirs — anger, confusion, or maybe just the ache of something unfinished.

“Welcome to Oceanview,” I reply, tone clipped but steady.

The meeting ends. Chairs scrape. Papers shuffle. Riley chats beside me, but I barely hear her.

As I walk out, I feel it — that unmistakable pull. The same one I promised myself I’d outgrow.

And when I reach for the door, his voice stops me.

“Taliah.”

Just my name.

Soft. Familiar.

Enough to undo the calm I’d built.

I turn slightly, not trusting myself to face him fully.

“Yes?”

A pause. Then, “It’s good to see you.”

I force a faint smile — the kind that hides more than it reveals.

“Is it?”

He doesn’t answer. Just watches as I leave the room, heartbeat pounding louder than my footsteps.

And for the first time in years, I realize — some goodbyes don’t stay buried.

They wait.