People You Wait For
1469 Words
Hospitals changed time strangely.
Minutes felt longer.
Nights felt quieter.
Emotions felt heavier beneath white lights and exhaustion.
Sophia sat beside Vivian sometime after midnight while Adrian returned carrying plastic bags filled with coffee and warm food from the hospital café downstairs.
Neither woman had touched the earlier coffee.
Adrian noticed immediately.
Of course he did.
“You’re both impossible,” he muttered softly while placing food onto the empty seat between them.
Vivian managed a weak smile.
Sophia crossed her arms.
“We weren’t hungry.”
“Stress doesn’t remove basic human requirements.”
“You sound like a doctor.”
“No,” Adrian said calmly. “Doctors sleep occasionally.”
Sophia almost smiled.
Almost.
Adrian handed Vivian soup first.
Then Sophia.
The simple order didn’t escape her notice.
Vivian needed comfort.
Sophia needed taking care of.
Dangerous man.
⸻
Two hours later, Vivian finally fell asleep with her head resting awkwardly against the hospital chair beside the room.
Sophia carefully adjusted the thin blanket over her shoulders.
The movement felt strangely natural.
Soft.
Maternal, almost.
The realization unsettled her immediately.
“She trusts you already.”
Adrian’s quiet voice came from beside her.
Sophia glanced toward him.
He sat nearby holding untouched coffee, sleeves rolled neatly again despite the late hour and exhaustion visible beneath his eyes.
“She barely knows me.”
“She knows you stayed.”
The words landed softly inside her chest again.
Stayed.
Such a simple thing.
Yet somehow the rarest.
Sophia sat down beside him slowly.
For several minutes, neither spoke.
Rain tapped softly against the hospital windows while distant footsteps echoed through quiet hallways.
Jakarta never fully slept.
Neither did grief.
“You should go home,” Sophia said eventually.
Adrian looked at her calmly.
“You want me to?”
No.
The answer appeared instantly inside her chest.
Too instantly.
Sophia looked away.
“You’ve been here for hours.”
“So have you.”
“That’s different.”
“Why?”
Because it’s my mess.
The words almost escaped before Sophia stopped herself.
Adrian watched her quietly for a moment.
Then:
“You know,” he said softly, “you don’t have to earn support every time you’re struggling.”
Sophia’s throat tightened unexpectedly.
Because that was exactly how love worked in her family.
Everything transactional.
Everything conditional.
Her father gave affection when convenient.
Her mother endured suffering to deserve stability.
Nothing ever came freely.
“I’m not used to people staying this long,” she admitted quietly.
The honesty surprised both of them.
Adrian’s expression softened almost painfully.
“That’s not something you should have had to get used to.”
Sophia stared down at her hands silently.
Then suddenly laughed once under her breath.
“What?”
“You know what’s embarrassing?”
“Hm?”
“I don’t even know how to let people take care of me properly.”
Adrian smiled faintly.
“I noticed.”
Rude.
Sophia nudged his arm lightly before she could stop herself.
The movement froze both of them briefly.
Small contact.
Still enough to shift the atmosphere instantly.
Sophia became aware again of:
his warmth beside her,
the quietness between them,
how naturally she kept gravitating toward him lately.
Dangerous.
Adrian looked down at her hand still resting near his sleeve.
Neither moved immediately.
Then softly:
“Sophia.”
Her heartbeat stumbled again.
She hated when he said her name like that.
Gentle.
Careful.
Like it meant something.
“What?” she asked quietly.
Adrian studied her for a long moment.
Then:
“You keep looking at me like you want to run.”
Sophia looked away immediately.
Because he was right.
Every time she started feeling safe with him, panic followed right behind it.
“Maybe I do.”
The words came out quieter than intended.
Adrian nodded once.
“But you’re still here.”
The sentence wrapped itself tightly around her chest.
Because somehow—
he always noticed the part of her that stayed.
Not just the part trying to leave.
Before Sophia could respond, movement inside the hospital room caught her attention.
Her father was awake.
The moment their eyes met through the partially open door, tension settled heavily inside her chest again.
Sophia stood automatically.
Adrian rose too.
“You don’t have to come,” she said quietly.
“I know.”
Still, he stayed nearby while Sophia stepped inside the room alone.
The air smelled faintly of antiseptic and medicine.
Her father looked older tonight.
Not powerful.
Not intimidating.
Just tired.
For a brief second, Sophia almost felt guilty for noticing.
“Sophia.”
His voice sounded rough from exhaustion.
She remained standing near the doorway.
“How are you feeling?”
Funny.
Even now, she defaulted to politeness instead of honesty.
“Tired,” he admitted.
Sophia almost laughed at the irony.
Welcome to the family.
Silence stretched awkwardly between them.
Her father glanced toward the corridor where Adrian stood quietly outside beside the sleeping Vivian.
“Your boyfriend?”
Sophia frowned immediately.
“No.”
Too fast.
Too defensive.
Her father noticed.
Unfortunately.
“He stayed late.”
Sophia crossed her arms.
“Vivian was alone.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
Irritation flared instantly inside her chest.
Even lying in a hospital bed, he still sounded emotionally observant at the worst possible moments.
“You should rest,” Sophia said flatly.
But before she could leave, her father spoke again.
“You’ve grown up well.”
The sentence stopped her unexpectedly.
Not because it meant something.
Because it didn’t.
Twenty-eight years.
Countless disappointments.
Broken dinners.
Crying mothers.
Lonely birthdays.
And somehow all of that was reduced to:
You’ve grown up well.
Sophia looked at the man lying in the hospital bed.
Then quietly:
“I had to.”
Silence filled the room immediately afterward.
Her father looked away first.
Guilt crossed his face briefly.
Too late.
Far too late.
Sophia left before he could say anything else.
⸻
Adrian looked up the moment she stepped back into the hallway.
“You okay?”
“No.”
This time the answer came easier.
Sophia leaned against the wall beside him, suddenly exhausted in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
“I’m so tired,” she whispered quietly.
Not physically.
Everything.
Family.
Responsibility.
Survival.
Pretending strength all the time.
Adrian watched her carefully.
Then slowly stepped closer.
Not enough to overwhelm her.
Just enough that she felt less alone standing there beneath harsh hospital lights.
“You don’t always have to carry everyone,” he said softly.
Sophia laughed bitterly.
“Someone has to.”
“No,” Adrian replied gently. “Someone convinced you that you had to.”
The words cracked something open inside her chest.
Because maybe he was right.
Maybe Sophia became strong because nobody else around her ever was.
And maybe—
just maybe—
she was exhausted because she never learned how to stop.
Her eyes burned suddenly.
Oh no.
Absolutely not.
Sophia looked away immediately.
Crying in front of Adrian felt catastrophically vulnerable.
But Adrian noticed anyway.
Of course he did.
Without a word, he gently handed her his coffee cup because apparently he understood she would rather hold something than be seen falling apart.
The quiet understanding nearly destroyed her composure completely.
“I hate you a little,” she muttered weakly.
A soft laugh escaped him.
“No, you don’t.”
Unfortunately true.
⸻
By the time they finally left the hospital, Jakarta was nearly silent beneath early morning rain.
Vivian stayed behind with her mother after insisting Sophia go home and rest.
Sophia was too exhausted to argue properly.
The drive back felt quieter than usual.
Not awkward.
Just tired.
Sophia leaned against the car window while rain blurred the city lights outside.
At some point during the drive, exhaustion finally pulled her under briefly.
The next thing she knew, Adrian’s voice sounded softly beside her.
“Sophia.”
She blinked awake slowly.
They were parked beneath her apartment building.
Rain continued tapping gently against the windshield.
For a disoriented second, Sophia realized her head had shifted toward him while she slept.
Close enough to feel warmth beside her.
Embarrassing.
“I fell asleep,” she murmured.
“You needed it.”
Sophia rubbed her eyes tiredly before reaching for the door handle.
Then paused.
Because Adrian was still looking at her quietly.
Not impatient.
Not distant.
Still there.
Always still there.
And suddenly Sophia realized something terrifying:
She was beginning to expect it.
Expect him.
Wait for him.
Look for him.
The realization settled softly—and dangerously—inside her chest.
Because for the first time in her life—
Sophia understood that the scariest part of love was not falling.
It was finally wanting someone to catch you.
- Writer
