On the day of our high school graduation, in front of the entire class, I threw a stack of cash at Xavier Stone. "I’m done playing," I said, my voice cold. "Let’s end it here." He bent down, picking up the bills one by one from the floor. His voice was raspy when he finally spoke. "Okay." By the end of the summer, Xavier boarded a train to Johns Hopkins for pre-med. I boarded a plane overseas to begin endless rounds of chemotherapy. Years later, back in the States, I lay in a hospital bed, bald from the treatment, scrolling through my phone for a new wig. The door opened. Xavier Stone, wearing a white coat and a stethoscope, locked eyes with me. 1 When Xavier walked in, I was in a compromising position—butt in the air, face buried in the pillow, doing yoga stretches to help with gas. My phone was blasting a livestream: "Black Friday deals! Buy now or cry later!" "Miss Miller, looking at wigs again?" a nurse teased. The noisy room went dead silent. The nurse pointed at me. "Dr. Stone, this is the new patient for the clinical trial. She’s signed the consent forms." When Xavier looked over, I collapsed onto the mattress like a tipped cow, my mind going completely blank. Ten years. The man I thought I’d never see again was suddenly my attending physician. And he caught me doing gas-relieving yoga. Kill me now. I scrambled up, adjusting my crooked face mask, silent as a cicada in winter. Even without looking at him, I could feel his gaze. It was cold. There was no warmth in it. It was nothing like the look of helpless affection he used to give me when I messed up a math problem back in high school. "Miss Miller, this is Dr. Xavier Stone, the head of our team. He’ll be in charge of your treatment plan." I dodged his eyes and gave a curt nod. I didn't make a sound. The intern next to him held a clipboard, reciting my history like a script. "Mia Miller, female, 28. Ten years ago, a physical revealed enlarged cervical lymph nodes. Initial diagnosis: Non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. Further pathology revealed—" "You can skip the history." "Oh? Do you know the patient, Doctor?" My heart hammered in my throat. I pretended to be busy with my phone, feeling Xavier’s eyes drift to the ridiculous sheep-horn beanie I was wearing. After a long pause, he spoke, his voice flat. "I don't know her. Her case is just unique. I reviewed it beforehand." My phone screen auto-refreshed to Amazon. The payment countdown was ticking. Seconds ticked by. I zoned out, my finger hovering over the 'Buy' button but never pressing it. The intern finished listing the treatment protocols. Xavier listened, his tone devoid of emotion. "Fine. Continue with the current regimen. We'll re-evaluate tomorrow." Then, he moved on to the next patient. The rounds lasted twenty minutes. He never looked at me again. I rubbed my stiff neck, realizing my back was soaked in sweat. The wig I wanted sold out while I was frozen in panic. Just my luck. But there was a silver lining: Xavier had forgotten me. Even when the intern said my name, he didn't flinch. 2 When Xavier and I first met, we didn't get along. I was the rich girl with terrible grades who did whatever she wanted. To force me to study, our homeroom teacher made Xavier my desk mate. At first, he ignored me. He just stared at his practice exams, solving problems over and over. He had the brains, the personality, and the looks. His only flaw was being poor. I was the opposite. No brains, bad attitude. Next to him, I looked like a bimbo with a wallet. Luckily, I had EQ. While other girls wrote him love letters, I bought him SAT prep books. I bought him every study guide on the market. In less than a semester, I wore him down. The day I kissed Xavier, it was his birthday. His white shirt was rumpled, my lipstick stained on his mouth. He looked down, lashes fluttering. "What does this mean?" It was my first time kissing a guy. My brain short-circuited. I stammered, "Don't... don't you get it? Be my boyfriend." Xavier’s ears turned red. He whispered, "Okay." Those were good times. I hated studying, but I’d sit obediently next to him, listening to him tutor me. In one year, my SAT score shot up by 200 points. I calculated it. I could get into a college in Boston. I wouldn't have to do long-distance with him. If only that physical exam hadn't ruined everything... "Ugh..." The sound of retching echoed in the hospital room. I hugged the toilet bowl, vision blurring, cold sweat drenching my clothes. My best friend, Sarah, patted my back. "This isn't right. Your reaction is too severe. I'm getting a doctor." I grabbed her hand. "Don't. I'm used to it." I’d survived 27 rounds of chemo alone abroad. I’d held on for ten years. Now that I relapsed, who knew how much more suffering awaited? I didn't want to be the annoying patient who cried wolf. Sarah wouldn't have it. "Isn't Xavier your doctor? I'll find him. He'll help." I hugged Sarah’s leg, begging. "Girl, please. Sit down. You should be glad he didn't recognize me. If he did, he’d probably prescribe a hundred rounds of chemo out of spite." "Who told you you're getting a hundred rounds?" A cool voice came from behind. I froze. I didn't dare turn my head. Sarah let out a breath. "Dr. Stone, Mia isn't feeling well—" "It's a normal reaction to chemotherapy. If she can't handle it..." I didn't hear what Xavier told Sarah after that. All I could think was: Did he hear what I just said? 3 That evening, a nurse came to give me an anti-nausea shot. She probed, "Do you know Dr. Stone?" I lay on the bed, staring at the ceiling. "No. Why?" "Dr. Stone never micromanages like this. He specifically went to the attending's office and ordered this shot for you." I looked in the mirror. I was gaunt. The pain had sucked the life out of my face. I looked nothing like the girl from ten years ago. Impossible... Even if Xavier had a good memory— Okay, he had a photographic memory. Maybe he’s just holding a grudge? The name "Mia Miller" was on the chart. How could I be stupid enough to think he didn't know? Sarah chimed in, "Your Dr. Stone is only 28, right? A department head at that age?" "Oh, you know your stuff! He did an accelerated MD/PhD program. His resume is legendary. Regular people can't compare." Seeing Sarah’s interest, the nurse laughed. "Planning to chase him? Save your energy. He’s taken." Sarah winked at me. The nurse continued, "The Hospital Director's daughter. She just got back from overseas with a PhD. Rumor has it they’re getting married soon." The smile froze on Sarah’s face. I picked at a loose thread on my hospital gown, suddenly finding it fascinating. After the nurse left, Sarah whispered, "Mia... I'm sorry." "What for?" I shrugged. "I'm 28, not 18." The dream of the cold genius falling for me ended ten years ago. 4 After that day, I didn't see Xavier. I heard about him, though. He was at conferences or in the lab. He did rounds once a week to tweak medication. During the break between chemo cycles, patients could go home. So, until I was discharged, I didn't see him again. On the way home, I got a call from Ben, our old high school class president. "Mia! You're still in Boston? How's treatment?" The background noise was loud. Another classmate chimed in, "Why didn't you tell us you were sick? If Ben hadn't mentioned it, we wouldn't have known." I was popular in high school, and I’d kept in touch with Ben over the years. I laughed weakly. "Didn't want to bother anyone." "Nonsense. Where are you staying? We're coming to visit tomorrow." I couldn't refuse their kindness, so I gave them my address. My parents had spent a fortune on my treatment over the years. Thanks to Sarah, I found a cheap rental in the city. First floor, south-facing yard. If I got better, I could plant flowers. Maybe get a dog. Most of our classmates had stayed in our hometown, so only five or six came. They hauled in bags of groceries. "We wanted to do hotpot, but it's too hot. Let's just cook a big meal." I adjusted my thick beanie. "It's fine, I have AC. I want hotpot." Everyone cheered and piled into the kitchen. The house felt alive. It felt like graduation again. Ben was washing vegetables. "Have you contacted Xavier?" I paused for a second. "Who?" "Dude, don't you know he's an expert in blood diseases? Lymphoma is his specialty. Why didn't you ask him for help?" "Oh, I—" I really didn't want to drag Xavier into this mess. Suddenly, the doorbell rang. Ben wiped his hands on his apron and went to open it. Then, I heard the cheers. "Xavier! You actually came!" "Dr. Stone, long time no see." "Come in! Mia wants hotpot. You're the expert, tell us if she's allowed to eat it?" I stood frozen in the living room. My unwashed face, maskless, felt exposed to the scorching sun. I never expected them to contact him. And I never expected him to come. Xavier looked at me calmly. "Clear broth is fine." "Okay! Listen to the Doctor! No spicy broth!" Everyone got busy again. Xavier accepted the slippers Ben offered. He handed a bag of fruit to someone in the kitchen. Ben tried to break the ice. "Hey, the past is the past." "Laugh it off, right? Xavier, be the bigger man. Don't hold a grudge against Mia." "Help with the veggies." Someone shoved a colander of spinach into Xavier’s arms and pushed him onto the sofa opposite me. Suddenly, it was just the two of us in the living room. The AC unit in the corner rattled noisily. I avoided his gaze, fumbling for the mask in my back pocket. Snap. Xavier broke the stem of a spinach leaf. "I already recognized you," he said coolly. "Is there any point in hiding it now?"
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