Today was her dad's two-year follow-up appointment with his oncologist. He had been cleared of cancer a year ago, after a gruelling and intensive battle. Life had finally started to look up. This past year had been nothing short of a miracle.
They made the most of it.
Trips together. Weekend baking disasters that turned into inside jokes. Conversations that healed old wounds. Slowly, quietly, they had rebuilt their bond. From broken pieces, a semblance of a family emerged again.
After her mom and brother perished in a road accident, life had collapsed around Lily. The silence in the house was deafening. Her father had been a shell of himself, and grief seemed to hang from every corner of the house like heavy curtains blocking out the sun. She often found herself wandering from room to room, trying to remember what joy used to feel like.
And then, just when she thought things couldn't get worse, her dad collapsed.
She remembered the moment like a scar burned into her memory. The sound of the crash as he hit the floor, the way her heart leapt out of her chest. The ambulance ride, the sterile smell of the hospital, the clipped voices of doctors—all a blur of terror.
He was rushed into surgery. She had never felt so helpless. She prayed then, harder than ever before. She begged the heavens for just one more chance. She vowed to never take anything for granted again. She promised to laugh more, to love deeper, to cherish what remained.
And maybe they had heard her.
Because her dad survived. And the healing began.
Today they sat, side by side, in the waiting area of The Lily of Hope Oncology Centre. The name alone always felt like a strange echo of herself, as if the building were whispering her own name back to her.
Lily felt her nerves prickling. Her hands trembled slightly over the bouquet of lilies resting in her lap. Maybe she brought them because her name was Lily. Maybe because the centre shared her name. Or maybe, deep down, she felt like the doctor deserved them. She had met him a few times. He always wore a mask. Always serious. Always attentive to her father. And always—just for a flicker—she would feel his gaze brush over her before vanishing just as quickly.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the rustle of paper as patients shifted in their seats. Her father tapped a rhythmic beat on the armrest, a nervous tic he hadn't kicked even after the cancer went into remission.
"You okay?" he asked gently.
She nodded, but it wasn't the whole truth.
Today would either be a really good day or the beginning of another nightmare.
The elevator doors at the end of the corridor opened.
A tall figure stepped out.
His slightly long hair fell across his forehead, messy but somehow intentional, as if the universe styled it that way on purpose. He moved like he had command over the ground beneath him. Confident. Calm. His hands were tucked into the front pockets of his hospital coat as he approached.
She couldn't see his face yet. But something about him pulled at her.
"Who is he?" she whispered.
She watched the way his long legs moved, the gentle sway of the coat with every step. There was something majestic about it, as if the world made space for him. Like he belonged not just in the hospital but on a stage, under lights, commanding attention with nothing more than his presence.
And then she saw his face.
Prominent brow. Deep, intelligent eyes that glinted like obsidian catching light. High cheekbones that framed his face with sculpted precision. And those lips—soft, defined, somehow poetic. She could write a novel about them. No—about the way he walked. About the way the lab coat clung to his form. About the way his presence felt like a gift.
"Dad, is it allowed to be this handsome?" she asked, nudging him playfully.
"Shh, he definitely heard that," her dad said with a chuckle. "That's Dr. Lance. Be serious, Lily."
"Huh?! Dr. Lance?"
She blinked.
She had seen him before. But he never looked like this. Maybe it was because he always wore his mask. Or maybe he had just always been hidden behind that professional boundary. But this—this was different.
He was him.
And he was beautiful.
He was more than beautiful. He was mesmerizing.
Her breath caught in her throat as he came closer. There was something about him that felt... familiar. Like the first notes of a forgotten song. Like a memory she didn't remember making.
"Mr. Storm, let's go in together," Dr. Lance said with a small, warm smile.
His voice was smooth, confident. And yet, there was a softness in his tone when he addressed her father. A kindness.
Lily clutched the bouquet of lilies tighter.
She didn't know why her heart suddenly raced.
She didn't know why it felt like meeting someone she had lost.
But when their eyes met for that brief, electric second—
She felt it. Finally seeing him felt like what people called love at first sight but not really-- this reaction felt like she knew that face, as if she had loved him in another life.
* * *
Lance was good at masking his emotions. He had to be. Years of training and years more of being the bearer of both hope and heartbreak had made him an expert at composure. But nothing—not his degrees, not the painful awakenings of past lives, not even the quiet grief he carried like an old injury—had prepared him for the moment he stepped out of the elevator and saw her again.
Lily.
He knew it the moment he saw the silhouette of her frame beside her father. She looked different—healthier, glowing even—but the feeling in his chest was unmistakable. It was the same every time. A quiet shudder in his soul. A gasp the universe seemed to take through him.
But this time… this time she looked radiant.
Gone was the frail girl from a year ago, the one whose shoulders sagged under the weight of worry, grief, and fatigue. Today, Lily looked like the sun had finally found her. Her hair was longer, shinier, tumbling over her shoulders like dark silk. Her skin had the flush of life, no longer the pale shade of someone who spent more time in hospital halls than the outdoors.
She wore a soft white blouse tucked into light-washed jeans and had a soft, warm presence around her like light filtered through curtains. Her laugh, even at a whisper, wrapped around him like a thread tugging at something deep inside.
He was walking toward them, legs moving automatically, but his mind… his mind was stuck on the way her eyes lit up when she turned to look at him.
Could she feel it too?
Did she remember?
Did something inside her stir the way it did in him?
He caught her words just as he was a few steps away.
"Dad, is it allowed to be this handsome?"
His breath hitched.
He almost smiled right then and there—but steadied himself. Not yet. Not here.
When her father scolded her with a chuckle and called him by name, Lance noticed her expression shift again—surprise, recognition, something deeper.
"Huh?! Dr. Lance?" she echoed.
It hurt more than it should have that she didn't fully remember him. But he understood. It had always been this way. She never remembered first. He always bore the curse of knowing, of remembering her death, her suffering, and the impossibility of preventing it.
But now—now she was alive. Gloriously alive.
He had spent every year of his career haunted by moments like this. In dreams. In fragments. In lifetimes that refused to stay buried. But standing here now, watching her laugh with her father, watching her eyes follow his movement like a puzzle she was trying to solve—Lance felt hope crack through his chest.
"Mr. Storm, let's go in together," he said, forcing his voice to stay steady, to not betray the storm in his heart.
He opened the door to his consultation office, gesturing for them to enter. The scent of lilies brushed past him as she passed, bouquet in hand. She sat delicately beside her father, folding her hands over the flowers, her gaze flicking around the room before returning—almost shyly—to him.
Her father sat comfortably; shoulders relaxed in a way that told Lance everything he needed to know. He was healing. Truly healing.
"How have you been feeling, Mr. Storm?" Lance asked, taking a seat across from them.
"Stronger every week," her father said. "The fatigue is mostly gone. I've been going on short walks again, even managed to beat Lily in a game of chess last week."
"You cheated," Lily said, without looking at either man. Her voice had a soft lilt to it, almost musical. "He moved the knight like a bishop."
"Did not," her dad grumbled.
Lance let himself chuckle. It felt good to laugh. Even better to hear her voice teasing and bright.
"Well," Lance said, flipping open the folder on the desk, "I've reviewed your scans and blood work. Everything looks great. No signs of recurrence. Your numbers are strong. Your energy levels seem to be rebounding well."
Her dad let out a sigh of relief. He looked over at Lily, who reached for his hand and gave it a squeeze. There was such love in that gesture. Such silent understanding.
"That's amazing news," she said quietly.
Lance's gaze drifted to her again. She was glowing with happiness for her father. Her joy was honest, effortless, and without burden.
She had always loved deeply. In every lifetime, that part never changed.
"I do want to discuss something with you, Lily," Lance said gently, shifting his gaze to her.
Her eyes widened slightly. "Me?"
"It's standard protocol," he explained, trying to keep the moment light. "Since your father was diagnosed with a form of familial cancer, we typically recommend genetic screening for immediate family. Just to rule out inherited mutations. It's precautionary."
"Oh." She glanced at her dad. "I never really thought about that."
"Most people don't," Lance said kindly. "But it's important. We can run a blood panel and a hereditary cancer screening. It won't take long. Better to know, and have peace of mind."
Her father looked concerned. "You don't think—"
"No," Lance said quickly. "We're not saying there's anything wrong. This is just about being thorough. About staying ahead of things. She looks healthy—and clearly is—but cancer can be genetic, and we'd rather not wait for symptoms."
Lily nodded slowly. "Alright. If it helps ease any worries, let's do it."
Lance couldn't help the warmth that bloomed in his chest at her calm bravery. She didn't flinch. She didn't panic. She met the challenge head-on. As always.
She was always like this. Stronger than she looked. Braver than she knew.
He watched as she carefully placed the bouquet on the edge of his desk.
"I brought these," she said. "For you. Or the team."
"They're beautiful," Lance said. He leaned forward slightly, brushing his fingers near the bouquet but not quite touching it. "Thank you. Very fitting."
"Because I'm Lily, or because the building is?" she teased.
"Because they remind me of you," he said without thinking.
She blinked. "What?"
Lance straightened. "Just a doctor's attempt at being poetic. Sorry."
She smiled—but there was something puzzled behind it. A pause. A flicker. As if the words scratched the surface of a thought she didn't quite have yet.
He cleared his throat and stood. "The lab's open until five today. I can have someone draw your blood and schedule a follow-up appointment."
Her dad stood too. "Thank you again, Dr. Lance. Truly. I can't tell you what it means to have this clean bill of health."
"You earned it," Lance said. "You fought hard."
Lily rose more slowly, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes met his again, and this time—this time—they lingered just a second too long.
"Will you be the one going over my results?" she asked.
"If you'd like me to," he replied, softer now.
She nodded. "I'd like that."
The moment held.
It wasn't long, no longer than a breath, but the air shifted between them—an invisible tether tightening. She didn't look away. And neither did he.
Then her father broke the silence with a cough. "Come on, Lily. I need to text your aunt before she thinks I've died."
She laughed. "She would."
Lance followed them to the door, his hand brushing the frame, watching as Lily turned back to offer him one last smile before disappearing into the corridor.
He stood in the quiet for a long moment, the scent of lilies still hanging in the air.
She didn't remember.
Not yet.
But something in her was beginning to stir. He could see it. Feel it. The way her eyes lingered. The curiosity in her voice. The déjà vu.
It was happening again.
But this time, she was healthy.
This time, she was vibrant.
This time, maybe—just maybe—the universe wasn't playing a cruel joke.
This time, he would be ready.