Jillian stared at the neat, confident handwriting for a long moment. No promises. No confessions. Just quiet encouragement—exactly what she didn't realize she needed.
She slipped the note into her coat pocket, tucked close to her heart, and smiled softly as she stepped into the cool Beijing night, ready to return to her life... and maybe, without fully meaning to, carrying him with her a little bit too.
---
After a smooth flight back to Shanghai, Jillian stepped out of the terminal, the familiar buzz of the city greeting her like an old, restless friend.
She hailed a taxi, her mind already racing ahead to the hospital, to the growing pile of responsibilities waiting for her.
By the time she walked through the polished glass doors of the research institute, the afternoon sun was sinking low.
Her arrival didn't go unnoticed—colleagues glanced up from their workstations, some with polite smiles, others with barely hidden curiosity.
Whispers floated along the hallway: "She's back from Beijing..." "Did you see her on stage? She killed it..." "Heard she was seen with someone powerful..."
Jillian kept her face neutral, her steps brisk as she made her way toward her office.
Dr. Ma, a senior researcher, intercepted her before she could escape.
"Big star now, aren't we?" he said with a teasing grin.
"Hardly," Jillian replied lightly, masking her unease.
"Well, you sure made an impression. Investors, hospital directors... even outsiders are talking about you."
Jillian forced a polite laugh, brushing it off. "I'm just doing my job."
But the words felt hollow. She could feel the subtle shift around her—the weight of new expectations, and underneath that, the murmur of envy.
Finally alone in her office, Jillian sank into her chair and exhaled.
She turned on her computer, pulling up charts and emails, trying to anchor herself back into the familiar rhythm of work.
Yet, no matter how much she focused, a name kept floating at the edge of her mind—Ethan Hunter.
Her phone buzzed quietly on her desk. She glanced at the screen and froze.
Ethan Hunter: Hope you had a smooth flight.
Jillian stared at the message, heart kicking once against her ribs. It was simple.
Innocent on the surface. But she knew better.
She knew the careful way he chose his words.
She tapped her fingers lightly on the desk, debating. Respond? Ignore it? What did she want?
Before she could decide, another message came through, even simpler:
Ethan Hunter: If you ever want to talk, I'm around.
Her hand hovered over the keyboard.
Part of her ached to answer—to say something real, something raw about how complicated everything felt.
Another part urged caution. Emotions had no place in the world she had fought to build, the reputation she was still defending.
Instead of replying, Jillian locked her phone and set it face down on the desk.
She pulled a file toward her, forcing herself to review patient reports.
The fluorescent lights above buzzed faintly, the city's pulse outside her window, but inside, Jillian's world had narrowed to one sharp, painful point of focus:
She couldn't afford to fall—not now, not when everyone was watching.
And especially not for someone like Ethan.
After returning from rounds, Jillian found a small, neatly wrapped package sitting on her desk.
There was no sender's name—only a simple card that read, "For the days you forget how brilliant you are."
Her fingers paused over the ribbon.
Unwrapping it carefully, she found an old, rare medical book—one she had mentioned years ago in passing, back when conversations were casual, back when everything was simpler.
Jillian sat down slowly, the edges of her heart fraying a little.
She knew who it was from.
Without a word, she slid the book into the drawer, locking it away, just like the emotions she wasn't ready to deal with.
The next day, whispers floated through the hospital corridors like smoke.
The administration had quietly scheduled a review board meeting—focused on investigating potential "ethical breaches" related to Jillian's connection with a certain VIP patient.
Jillian overheard two junior doctors discussing it outside the research wing.
"She's brilliant but... connections like that raise questions," one muttered.
She felt the sting of betrayal but kept walking, her face calm, her mind already sharpening.
Someone was pushing for her fall—and they weren't finished yet.
By the time evening cloaked the city, Jillian found herself sitting in the quiet corner of the hospital's rooftop garden—a place only a few senior staff knew.
She hadn't intended to speak, but when Dr. Wen, the elderly research consultant, sat beside her with two cups of tea, the words slipped out.
"Sometimes," Jillian said, voice low, "it feels like I'm fighting shadows. Like no matter how hard I work, they'll always find something to stain it."
Dr. Wen simply nodded, handing her the tea.
"Good things," he said, "are always heavier to carry.
But you're stronger than the weight."
For once, Jillian allowed herself a small, weary smile.
Maybe she wasn't completely alone after all.
Later that evening, as Jillian sat reviewing patient reports in her quiet office, a soft knock interrupted her focus.
"Dr. Jillian… this just arrived for you," a hospital intern said, handing her a slim envelope before hurrying away.
Curious, Jillian turned the envelope over in her hands. No sender name. No hospital markings.
Inside was a simple cream-colored card.
Only a few words were written in a firm, elegant hand:
"You're stronger than their whispers. Keep standing tall."
The moment she read it, something tightened in her chest.
Her fingers trembled slightly as she held the card, the world around her dimming for a moment.
She knew.
There was no need for a signature.
Only one person would know the right thing to say at exactly the right time — and would say it so sparingly, without drama, without asking for anything in return.
A wave of emotion rose within her — unexpected and raw.
She wasn't used to being seen like this. She wasn't used to someone noticing the quiet battles she fought every day without ever speaking of them.
It made her feel vulnerable… but at the same time, it made her feel seen.
Slowly, Jillian pressed the card against her heart, holding it there for a few long seconds.
No one needed to know what she had received.
No one needed to know how much it steadied her.
Tucking the card carefully into her coat pocket, she drew in a deep breath, straightened her shoulders, and turned back to her reports — not because they demanded it, but because she could.
After her long shift finally ended, Jillian sat quietly in the locker room, still thinking about the card tucked inside her coat.
For a moment, she hesitated, her thumb hovering over her phone screen.
Maybe it's foolish… but some thanks should be said in person.
Gathering her courage, she typed a short message:
"Are you free for dinner tonight?"