The city outside pulsed with life as Evelyn and Adrian strolled down a quiet stretch near the waterfront. The night air was crisp, the scent of salt from the breeze mingling with distant food carts and fading laughter from a street performer's violin. It was late—almost midnight—but neither of them wanted the night to end.
Evelyn, usually composed and brisk, walked slowly beside Adrian. Her hands were tucked into the pockets of her long coat, and her expression was unusually soft. Every so often, she glanced up at him, as if to confirm he was real and not just some elaborate metaphor her mind had conjured.
Adrian, in turn, looked… lighter. The familiar heaviness in his eyes had faded a little, replaced with something quieter. Not happiness, not yet. But something gentler—hope, perhaps.
"I forgot the city could be this quiet," he said, breaking the silence. "Usually when I'm out here, there's a crowd waiting for a selfie or screaming about the last movie I did."
Evelyn glanced sideways. "Do you miss it? The noise?"
"Sometimes." He kicked a pebble into the water. "But mostly, it felt like running on a treadmill—loud, fast, and going nowhere."
She gave a faint nod. "And now?"
"Now it feels like I finally stepped off. The world's still spinning, but I'm… watching it for the first time."
She looked at him thoughtfully. "That's poetic."
He smirked. "I have my moments. Years of reciting scripts teaches you a thing or two."
They reached a small bench overlooking the water and sat down, the silence between them unpressured. After a few minutes, Evelyn spoke.
"Did you ever think about quitting acting?"
Adrian's smile dimmed slightly. "All the time. But when your whole identity is wrapped around something, walking away feels like erasing yourself."
"I understand that," she said quietly. "People don't really see me, either. Just the title. The precision. The aloof surgeon."
"But I see you," he said gently, turning toward her. "Not just the doctor, but the woman who sits in her office long after her shift ends. The one who keeps a sketchpad in her drawer but hasn't touched it in years."
Evelyn froze, eyes narrowing. "How did you—?"
"You dropped your keys last week. I saw the pad. Charcoal sketches, right?"
She looked away, caught somewhere between irritation and disbelief. "I used to draw… before med school."
"Why'd you stop?"
"Because dreams don't survive hospitals," she said flatly.
Adrian was quiet for a long moment before he reached into the inside pocket of his hoodie and pulled out a folded piece of paper. "I kept this," he said, handing it to her.
She unfolded it hesitantly. Inside was a crude doodle of a woman in a superhero cape, icy blue eyes and all, captioned: Dr. Hart – Cold on the outside, burning on the inside.
Evelyn snorted despite herself. "That's terrible."
"I know. I'm a better actor than an artist," he chuckled. "But I meant it."
Their smiles faded as a shadow approached from behind them.
"Adrian?" a woman's voice called.
They turned.
She was stunning—tall, polished, a few years older than Evelyn with sculpted cheekbones and perfectly curled hair. Her heels clicked on the pavement with controlled grace, and her sharp eyes flicked to Evelyn before settling on Adrian.
"Kira," Adrian said, stiffening.
Evelyn sensed the tension immediately.
Kira's voice was cool and clipped. "You've been dodging my calls."
"I wasn't ready to talk."
"You should've been. The studio is furious. And your therapist called me—said you skipped two sessions."
Adrian stood, jaw tight. "I don't owe the studio anything right now. I needed space."
"You needed to spiral?" she asked, gaze flicking briefly to Evelyn. "And who is this?"
"None of your business," he snapped.
Kira crossed her arms. "I'm still your manager, Adrian. And your friend. You think hiding out with a doctor is going to fix what's broken?"
Evelyn rose slowly. "Excuse me?"
Kira didn't even flinch. "Let me guess—good Samaritan surgeon, thinks she can 'heal' the broken actor with enough midnight conversations and philosophical walks?"
Evelyn's eyes narrowed, but Adrian stepped between them. "Enough. I asked you to back off, Kira. I didn't want the old life following me here."
She stared at him. "You think it won't? You think you can just disappear and people won't notice? You're on the cover of Variety next month, Adrian."
"That shoot was months ago. I didn't agree to it being published now."
"Well, it is," Kira said coldly. "They're running it with the headline 'Adrian Blake: The Vanishing Act.' So no, you don't get to pretend this is a clean break."
Evelyn looked at Adrian, watching the color drain from his face.
Kira stepped back, her voice softening. "You're not well, Adrian. I know you think you've found some sanctuary here, but this isn't real. She's not real. You'll be back in the spotlight before you know it."
She turned and walked away, heels clicking into the night like punctuation marks.
Adrian stood frozen for a long beat before dropping back onto the bench, head in his hands.
Evelyn sat beside him. "Adrian…"
He looked up slowly. "She's not wrong. I can't escape it, Evie. The world I'm from—it doesn't let people walk away."
She didn't speak. Just placed her hand over his.
"You're not a vanishing act," she said softly. "You're a man trying to breathe again."
His eyes were glassy. "And you… what if she's right? What if this is just… a distraction? Some fragile thing I'm clinging to?"
Evelyn shook her head. "Then we hold onto it. Fragile doesn't mean false. It means human."
He looked at her like she was the only solid thing in a world of shifting sand.
"Okay," he whispered.
They sat in silence again, but this time, it was filled with understanding—not escape.
Whatever came next—paparazzi, tabloids, Kira's fallout—they would face it. Together.