41.Not a date,Last exam and Divorce
Eva's pov:
Neil’s trip to New York was supposed to be 3 days.
It became 10.
He informed her in a short text.
“Meeting extended. 5 more days.”
That was it.
No heart. No call. No explanation.
Eva stared at the message for 3 whole minutes.
Then locked her phone.
“Focus,” she whispered to herself.
Library. 11:48 PM.
Books open. Coffee cold. Highlighters everywhere.
Lexi groaned.
“I swear if I see one more cardiac cycle diagram, I’ll faint.”
Trent rubbed his eyes.
“Eva, explain preload again. My brain died.”
Eva was calm on the outside.
Inside? She was exhausted.
She hadn’t slept properly in days.
Every night she checked her phone before sleeping.
Every morning she checked it before brushing.
Neil had called once.
In three days.
And that too?
Two minutes
“You eating properly?”
“Yes.”
“Study well.”
“Okay.”
“I’ll call later.”
He didn’t.
2:07 AM.
Lexi fell asleep on her notes.
Trent was half-dead on the table.
Eva stepped outside the library building.
Cold Seattle air.
She finally opened their chat.
Last message from her:
“Take care. Don’t skip meals.”
Seen.
No reply.
Her throat tightened.
She typed:
“Miss you.”
She stared at it.
Deleted it.
Instead she wrote:
“How was the meeting?”
Sent.
Phone silent.
She hugged herself.
“Stupid,” she whispered.
She wasn’t angry.
That was worse.
She was understanding.
____
For an entire week, Ryle had been dramatic about it.
Not subtle hints.
Not casual mentions.
Actual begging.
A Week Before the “Not-a-Date”
Monday – 8:12 PM
Ryle:
Coffee tomorrow?
Ria:
I have work.
Ryle:
At 7 PM?
Ria:
Not available.
Ryle:
That is not a thing.
Ria:
It is for me.
Ria:
Why?
Ryle:
Because you like books.
Ria:
I also like sleeping.
Ryle:
We can read silently next to each other.
Ria:
That sounds like an old married couple activity.
Ryle:
Exactly.
Ria:
Rejected.
Ria:
No.
Ryle:
You didn’t even think.
Ria:
I don’t run.
Ryle:
You don't have to.
Ria:
I don't have to come either.
Ria:
Been a couple of times not interested.
Ryle:
Teach me then.
Ria:
Not interested again.
Ryle:
Fine.
Ria:
I don’t like that opening line.
Ryle:
Wine making and tasting experience.
Ria:
You drink juice.
Ryle:
I can learn.
Ria:
Why wine?
Ryle:
It’s classy. Mature. Intellectual.
Ria:
You are none of those things.
Ryle:
That hurt.
Ria:
Good.
Ryle:
It’s not a date.
Ria:
Hmm.
Ryle:
Just two friends expanding cultural knowledge.
Ria:
You are exhausting.
Ryle:
But persistent.
Ria:
…
Ryle:
Ria.
Ryle:
Riaaa.
Ryle:
I will send 47 more ideas if you say no.
Ria:
You wouldn’t.
Ryle:
Watch me.
Ria:
…
Ria:
Fine.
Ryle:
YES.
Ria:
Not a date.
Ryle:
Of course not.
Ria:
Friends.
Ryle:
Strictly.
Ria:
If you act weird, I’m leaving.
Ryle:
Define weird.
Ria:
Ryle.
Ryle:
Okay okay. Normal. Mature. Civilized.
Ria:
I don’t trust that.
Ryle:
You said yes though.
And on the other side of the screen, Ryle grinned like he had just won a war.
Ria stared at her phone for a moment longer than necessary before putting it face down — pretending her heart wasn’t beating just a little faster.
He had chosen a vineyard just outside Seattle — rolling fields, winter vines resting under pale sunlight, wooden barrels lined in neat rows. It was surprisingly beautiful.
Ria didn’t expect that.
Or maybe she didn’t expect him to plan something this thoughtful.
“You dressed up,” he said when she stepped out of the car.
“I always dress like this.”
“You absolutely do not.”
She swatted his arm lightly, but she felt warm under his gaze. He looked good too — casual sweater, sleeves slightly rolled, pretending he hadn’t put effort into it.
The host handed them aprons and explained the process — fermentation, aging, blending. Ryle listened like it was the most important lecture of his life.
Ria leaned closer to whisper, “You’re taking notes?”
“Knowledge is power.”
“You are impossible.”
“And you said yes anyway.”
She didn’t answer that.
They were shown crushed grapes in oak barrels, deep purple and fragrant. Ryle dipped a spoon in and offered it to her.
“Ladies first.”
She hesitated. “You’re sure?”
“Trust me.”
She tasted.
Her expression changed instantly. “Oh.”
“Good oh or bad oh?”
“Good,” she admitted softly.
He looked ridiculously proud, as if he had personally invented grapes.
Later, during the blending session, they were asked to mix small samples and create their own flavor balance. Ria concentrated intensely, brows slightly furrowed.
Ryle didn’t look at the wine.
He looked at her.
“You’re staring,” she murmured without looking up.
“Observation.”
“Of?”
“You.”
She almost spilled the glass.
“Friends don’t look at friends like that.”
“Who said?” he replied calmly.
She avoided his eyes after that.
Wine tasting was last.
They sat at a small wooden table overlooking the vineyard. The late afternoon light painted everything gold.
She swirled her glass like she had seen in movies.
“Don’t pretend you know what you’re doing,” he teased.
“I absolutely know what I’m doing.”
She sniffed dramatically.
He leaned closer. “And?”
She paused, thinking. “Smells… expensive.”
He burst out laughing.
“Okay fine! What does it smell like?”
He took her glass gently, his fingers brushing hers for a second longer than necessary.
“Cherry. Oak. Maybe vanilla.”
She raised a brow.
“I Googled before coming.”
She gasped. “You cheated!”
“Preparation is attractive.”
She rolled her eyes but smiled into her glass.
Somewhere between the third tasting and shared laughter, the air changed.
Not loudly.
Not dramatically.
Just… softer.
Their knees brushed under the table.
Neither moved away.
He reached to wipe a small drop of wine from the corner of her lip with his thumb before thinking.
The world paused.
Her breath caught.
His hand stilled, still against her skin.
“Ryle,” she whispered.
He withdrew slowly. “Sorry.”
She shook her head quickly. “No… that's okay—”
She didn’t finish.
Because she didn’t know what she just.
He cleared his throat. “As a friend”
She looked at him then — really looked.
He wasn’t joking anymore.
There was hope in his eyes.
And fear.
“Yes,” she said softly.
But she didn’t move her hand away when his found it on the table.
She tried to move away but he intertwined.
"Friends don’t intertwine fingers."
"We do"
On the drive back, the sky was dusky lavender.
He walked her to her door.
“So,” he said casually, hands in pockets.
“Educational outing successful?”
“Very,” she replied.
“Would you… as friends… consider another educational outing?”
She tried to hold her composure.
“Maybe.”
“Maybe means yes.”
“It means maybe.”
He leaned slightly closer. “I’ll take maybe.”
She opened the door halfway, then turned back.
“You planned this for a week?”
“Longer.”
She smiled — softer than before.
“Thank you.”
“For?”
“Making it interesting.”
He stepped back, giving her space.
Always respectful.
Always waiting.
“Goodnight, Ria.”
“Goodnight, Ryle.”
She went inside.
Closed the door.
Leaned against it.
And smiled like an idiot.
Outside, Ryle stood for a full five seconds staring at the closed door before whispering to himself,
“Friends. Right.”
But he was already planning the next “non-date.”
Neil stood alone, jacket still on, tie loosened but not removed. The room was dark except for the city lights bleeding through the glass.
His phone lay on the table.
Three missed calls from the hospital board.
One unknown number.
He ignored the board.
He called the unknown number back.
The voice on the other end was calm. Too calm.
“Dr. Morris. I assume you understand the gravity of the situation.”
“I do,” Neil replied evenly.
“You were the supervising surgeon. You signed the clearance.”
“Yes.”
A pause.
“The family is pressing criminal negligence. They’re not interested in settlement.”
Neil walked toward the window slowly.
“What do they want?”
Another pause.
“Accountability.”
“And by accountability?”
Silence stretched long enough to mean something.
Then—
“You.”
Call hung up.phone still in his hand.
He had seen Eva's message.
He wanted to call.
But something was stopping him.
Not lack of feeling.
Too much of it.
He whispered to himself:
“Focus.”
He placed the phone face down.
___
That night, back at the hotel, he finally removed his tie.
His reflection in the mirror looked older.
Tired.
His phone buzzed.
A message from Eva:
“Did you eat?”
He stared at it for a long time.
Another message followed:
“Call me when free.”
He didn’t.
Instead, his phone rang again.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A different voice this time.
Lower.
Colder.
“You need to pay for what you have done.”
Neil’s eyes sharpened.
She didn’t complain.
She fought.
Answered every question. Stayed composed. Walked out with no regret.
Lexi screamed, “That's insane! But we killed it!”
Trent laughed, “we're built different.”
Eva smiled softly.
Eva was in the kitchen, arguing with Lexi on speaker about some post-exam plan, when the door clicked open.
She froze.
That sound.
Her heart recognized it before her brain did.
She turned slowly.
Neil stood at the door.
No message.
No “I’m landing.”
No warning.
Just him.
His beard had grown slightly — not messy, but enough to soften his sharp jawline. He was almost always clean-shaven. Controlled. Precise.
This version of him looked… tired.
But still Neil.
Still tall. Still composed. Still unreadable.
Her throat tightened.
“You’re back?” she said, breath catching in surprise. “
You didn’t tell me— I mean— I would’ve— I thought you were coming tomorrow—”
He stepped inside.
Closed the door.
No smile.
No hug.
No “I missed you.”
Just silence.
Eva kept talking, filling the space.
“How was New York? Did the meeting go well? You look—” she stopped herself from saying exhausted. “You look different. Is everything okay?”
He didn’t answer.
He walked past her toward the bedroom.
Her words slowly faded.
Something was wrong.
Very wrong.
Neil placed his bag on the bed.
Unzipped it.
Eva stood at the door now, watching him.
Studying him. His shoulders seemed heavier. His movements slower. Mechanical.
He took out a file.
Opened it.
Signed something.
The sound of pen scratching paper felt louder than it should.
Eva’s stomach dropped.
“Neil…?” her voice softened.
He walked toward her.
No anger..
No visible emotion..
Just… distance.
He held out the papers.
She took them automatically.
Her fingers trembled before her eyes even reached the top line.
Then she saw it.
Petition for Dissolution of Marriage.
Her vision blurred instantly.
The word stood there in bold.
DIVORCE.
Her ears started ringing.
“What is this?” she whispered, though she could see exactly what it was.
Neil’s jaw tightened slightly.
“It’s better this way.”
That was it.
No explanation.
No fight.
No accusation.
Just a verdict.
Her hands shook harder now. The papers rustled.
“You… you extended your trip for this?” Her voice cracked despite her trying to keep it steady.
Silence.
A tear slid down her cheek before she could stop it.
She hated that it showed.
She hated that he saw it.
“So that’s why,” she breathed. “That’s why you barely called.”
He looked away.
And that hurt more than if he had shouted.
“I don’t want this to get complicated,” he said quietly. “Sign it.”
Sign it.
Like she was signing a discharge summary.
Like it was the case.
Her lips parted, but no sound came out at first.
“You kissed me,” she said finally. Barely audible.
“Everything was fine before you left.”
His eyes flickered.
Just for a second.
Then steel again.
“That was a mistake.”
The tear line on her face doubled.
But she didn’t sob.
Didn’t collapse.
She straightened.
“You don’t get to decide alone,” she said, voice trembling but firm. “You don’t get to build something and then walk out when it starts feeling real.”
His breathing shifted.
That hit.
But he stayed silent.
And that silence was louder than anything.
She looked down at the papers again.
The word blurred.
Her grip tightened.
“I won’t sign this,” she whispered.
For the first time since entering the house, his eyes truly met hers.
And there it was.
Conflict.
Pain.
Something he was hiding.
Because this?
This wasn’t indifference.
This was a man cutting off his own hand before it could burn.