Chapter 38 Something different

Chapter 38 Something different
Marco lingered outside for quite some time before finally leaving. Robin, ever the gentleman, didn’t press me to explain who he was. He simply understood that I didn’t want to talk about it—and let the matter rest.

“So, let’s see what you’re planning to spoil me with,” I said, trying to break the ice.

Robin smiled, setting the bags down on the counter. “Spoil you? I’d call it keeping my promise,” he teased, lifting the container of soup. “But if you insist, I’ll take the credit.”

Robin busied himself in the kitchen, preparing what he had brought. We ate together, and for a while my mood lifted, the heaviness easing under his quiet charm. Yet even as I smiled, my thoughts kept circling back to Marco. Maybe I should have listened to what he had to say.

We sat together watching a movie, my head resting on Robin’s chest. The room was quiet, wrapped in the comfort of the moment—until Sarah stepped out of her room.

“Get a room, you two,” she teased, making her way to the kitchen.

She shot me a mocking look, her eyes glinting with mischief. “Someone’s getting lucky tonight,” she teased before heading out the door. I guessed she might be meeting Alex, though she hardly went to him these days.

We haven’t had time to talk, so I had no idea what was going on between those two.

All through the movie, Robin’s fingers toyed gently with my hair. He was tender, attentive—everything anyone could want. Yet the sweetness only deepened the ache inside me. I couldn’t stop wishing it were Marco, despite knowing he belonged to someone else.

Robin shifted slightly, tilting his head to look down at me. “You’re awfully quiet,” he murmured, his tone soft, more observation than question. His eyes searched mine, as if he could sense the distance I was trying to hide.

I forced a smile, hoping it would be enough to reassure him, but the weight in my chest refused to lift.

“I’m just tired,” I admitted, “and I keep thinking about the long hours waiting for me tomorrow. I should get to bed early. These last weeks matter—I have to leave a mark.”

The words tasted heavy as I said them. My chest tightened, because speaking them aloud made the reality sharper. Four weeks. Just four weeks left of my residency. The countdown felt bittersweet—each day a step closer to freedom, yet also a reminder of everything I was leaving behind.

I thought of the sleepless nights, the endless corridors, the patients whose faces I would never forget. The exhaustion had carved itself into me, but so had the pride. I wanted these final weeks to mean something, to prove that all the sacrifice had been worth it. And yet, the ache in my heart whispered that endings, no matter how triumphant, always carried loss.

Robin’s hand stilled in my hair. He looked at me quietly, his expression soft, almost protective. “You’ve already left a mark,” he said, his voice low but certain. “Anyone who’s crossed paths with you knows it.”

His reassurance warmed me, though the ache in my heart remained. I leaned closer, letting his steadiness hold me for a moment, even as the weight of those final weeks pressed against my thoughts.

“Do you mind staying the night?” I asked, the words slipping out before I could stop them. I had no idea what got into me—whether it was exhaustion, comfort, or the ache of not wanting to be alone.

Robin blinked, surprised, then studied me with quiet concern. For a moment, he didn’t answer, as if weighing what I truly needed. His gaze softened, and he gave a small nod. “If that’s what you want,” he said gently, “I’ll stay.”

We switched off the movie and headed to my room. In my head, I was praying it was in a decent state—I couldn’t even remember how I’d left it. The thought of Robin seeing a mess made my stomach twist; the last thing I wanted was to embarrass myself in front of him.

Thank God, when we stepped in the room it was decent enough. I knew my habit of tossing things carelessly onto the bed, and for a moment I worried it would betray me. I slipped quickly into the bathroom, changed into my pyjamas , and when I came back out, Robin was already waiting—standing there in his boxers, casual and unbothered, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

I glanced at him, then quickly looked away, hoping he wouldn’t notice. “If you’re not comfortable,” Robin said with a teasing smile, “I can borrow one of your pyjamas.”

We both laughed, the tension breaking into something lighter. The moment felt easy, playful—yet beneath the laughter, a quiet awareness lingered between us.

We slipped into bed, bodies settling into the quiet comfort of each other. His arm wrapped around me, pulling me closer, and I felt the steady rhythm of his breathing against my skin. Then, with a gentle tug, Robin tilted my head toward him. His eyes lingered on mine for a heartbeat before he leaned in, closing the space with a kiss.