CHAPTER 457: LOVE, AFTER THE LIGHTS FADE (4)

He opened it gently and peeked outside.

No one.

Just the quiet corridor and a forgotten package left at the neighbour’s door. He sighed, stepping back in. His heart, which had leapt like a schoolboy hearing his crush’s name, now quietly sulked like an old man denied tea.

Inside, the room still looked perfect.

The food was still warm. The petals hadn’t wilted. The wine sparkled in the light.

But she wasn’t here.

And his stupid chest ached a little more than he expected.

He walked back to the sofa and dropped himself onto it, both arms stretched out. The soft jazz music still played in the background, the candle flickered peacefully on the table—and Ethan, tired from hope and jet lag, closed his eyes for a minute.

Just a minute.

**

Same Time — St. Adelaide Hospital, Rooftop Lounge

Tara stood alone by the rooftop garden, wearing her long white coat over her deep blue scrubs. The city skyline stretched out before her, dotted with blinking lights and faraway noise. The wind teased a few strands of her black hair out of her ponytail as she leaned forward against the railing.

Her shift had ended an hour ago.

But she hadn’t left.

She had sat with a crying mother who just lost her child. Held her hand. Stayed until her breathing slowed. Until her husband arrived.

She had smiled at her interns. Signed her last file. And come here—to breathe.

The moon above her looked cold and soft, hanging like a quiet friend who didn’t ask questions. Tara exhaled deeply and glanced at her phone.

Still no missed calls.

Ethan hadn’t texted her all day. Which was rare. Even if he was busy, he always sent something—some ridiculous meme, a voice note of him humming horribly, or a picture of his mismatched socks. But today? Nothing.

She bit her lip and opened their chat window.

Last seen: 9 hours ago

A small sigh escaped her lips.

Maybe he was shooting.

Maybe he was resting.

Maybe she was just tired, and overthinking, and over-sensitive tonight.

Still... she missed him.

She opened her camera and snapped a picture of the moon. Then typed slowly—

Long day. Are you okay?

She hovered her thumb over the send button... then erased it.

Instead, she just locked her phone and leaned her head back, letting the wind kiss her cheeks.

She didn’t know that in that exact moment, Ethan was dozing on the couch, holding a cushion to his chest, the candle still flickering steadily beside him.

***

Ethan stirred awake with a soft groan, the kind a man made when pulled from a dream too early. His lashes fluttered, heavy with sleep, and the first thing he registered was the golden light spilling in from the hallway lamp. The second thing was the painful thud of his heartbeat—deep, dull, almost disappointed. He sat up slowly on the couch, rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand, the blanket he had pulled over himself sliding down to his lap.

He looked at the clock.

11:41 PM.

His jaw clenched faintly.

He had only meant to close his eyes for a minute—just one minute—but now it had been over an hour. And Tara still hadn’t come home.

The wine bottle sat unopened. The food had gone cold. The candle had burned down to a stub.

Something about that image—the forgotten dinner, the silent room, the gentle flicker of light dying down—punched a hole right through his chest. Not with anger. Not with blame. But that soft, unspoken ache that only came from waiting... and not being met.

With a sigh, Ethan ran a hand through his tousled hair and stood up. His bare feet made no sound against the floor as he walked around the room slowly, quietly. He began removing the petals, one by one, scooping them off the stairs and the hallway like cleaning up after a dream that didn’t come true. The fairy lights? Switched off. The bouquet? Moved back into the kitchen. The dining setup? Cleared and replaced with two slices of cold risotto on a plate he’d eat alone.

He didn’t sulk. He didn’t complain. He didn’t send a single message.

He just ate silently at the kitchen counter in his black T-shirt, his jaw tense and hair still slightly curled from his earlier shower. His cheeks were flushed from the nap, and his eyes were just a little glassy with leftover tiredness. The hoodie he had planned to wear to welcome her was slung over one chair, forgotten.

Once finished, he cleaned the plate, turned off the lights, and headed upstairs to their bedroom.

He entered their bedroom, changed into an old grey T-shirt and boxers, and lay down on the right side of the bed—her side—because tonight, he wanted to sleep facing the door. Just in case.

The sheets still smelled faintly like lavender and her hair oil. He inhaled softly, his lashes brushing against the pillow as he closed his eyes, and whispered without realizing, "I waited for you."

At 1:17 AM – The Front Door

Tara slid her key into the lock, her fingers trembling slightly—not from fear, but something else. Her heart was thumping so loudly in her chest that she had to pause for a second, press her palm against it, and take a deep breath.

Because the moment she stepped into the house And then she saw them—the shoes.

His favorite leather sneakers. Worn, scuffed, stylish in that casual movie-star way.

They sat neatly on the rack, like he had just come home from a walk.

Her breath caught.

She didn’t even bother to set her bag down. She climbed the stairs quickly, quietly, skipping the third step like she always did, avoiding the squeak.

The door to their bedroom was open.

The light inside was soft. Dim. Only the bedside lamp glowed, casting amber shadows over the floor.

And there he was.

Ethan.

Asleep.

Sprawled on the right side of their massive king-sized bed, arm thrown above his head, lips slightly parted. His long lashes rested delicately against his cheekbones, dark and soft like ink. His brows were relaxed, no trace of his usual sarcasm or tension. Just peace. Just breath.

His messy hair flopped over his forehead in lazy curls, and the sheets were tangled around his legs like he’d fallen into bed exhausted.