Pulse between us

The shift

Taliah’s POV

Hospitals have their own kind of rhythm.

Beep. Step. Whisper. Repeat.

You learn to move with it — to match its pulse until it feels like your own.

But today, mine is off-beat.

And it has everything to do with the man currently reviewing patient charts two desks away.

Noah Carter, Senior Radiographer.

Same calm presence. Same stillness. But his silence feels heavier now — measured, almost deliberate.

I focus on my microscope, pretending the faint buzz of the centrifuge is all I can hear.

Riley is chatting nearby, oblivious to the tension. “So, Mr. Carter,” she says, leaning against the counter, “how are you finding Oceanview so far?”

He looks up briefly, polite smile in place. “Still learning my way around. The team seems great, though.”

I can feel his gaze flick toward me for half a second before he returns to his notes.

“Dr. Monroe runs a tight ship,” Riley adds with a teasing grin. “She keeps us all alive and terrified.”

I exhale through my nose. “Riley, go check the specimen log before I give you extra hours.”

She laughs. “See what I mean?” Then she leaves, humming to herself.

The room falls quiet again. Just the hum of machines. And us.

I keep my eyes on the monitor. “You didn’t mention you’d transferred here,” I say softly, breaking the silence.

“I wasn’t sure it mattered,” Noah replies without looking up.

“It does,” I say before I can stop myself.

He finally turns, his voice low. “Would you have wanted a warning?”

A long pause stretches between us.

I look back into the microscope. “Maybe.”

He nods once — like he understands exactly what that maybe means.

The kind of understanding that used to feel easy between us. Too easy.

After a while, he moves closer to the workstation beside me. The faint scent of his cologne drifts through the sterile air — the same one I once borrowed from his hoodie.

“Your work,” he says quietly, eyes scanning the slides, “has always been precise. You haven’t changed.”

I don’t look at him. “Some things shouldn’t.”

There’s a soft hum from the printer, papers sliding out, and then his voice again — barely above a whisper.

“Some things can’t.”

That’s when Liam’s name flashes on my phone screen.

Liam: Lunch at noon? Don’t skip today, promise me.

Reality snaps back like a rubber band.

I lock the phone, tuck it into my coat pocket, and turn to Noah with a practiced smile. “If you need any assistance with specimen tracking, Riley can help you.”

His jaw tightens slightly. “Understood, Dr. Monroe.”

The title sounds too formal — too far from what it used to be.

But maybe that’s exactly what we need.

Still, when I step out of the lab, my pulse doesn’t settle.

Because I can feel his eyes on me.

And deep down, I know — this is only the beginning.