Chapter 1

When I pushed open Ethan's office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video.

They were so close, you couldn't even slip a piece of paper between them.

They were practically kissing.

I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I'd brought him.

"Ethan, can you explain this?"

He turned his head to look at me, no panic, barely even shifting his posture.

"Grace, can you stop always thinking the worst?"

He turned back to the screen, dismissively adding,"You wouldn't understand academic stuff."

I'd heard that line too many times.

He'd said it when I gave up my PhD.

He'd said it when he put Serena's name on my research paper.

I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left.

My phone vibrated.

A notification popped up from an unknown app—

[Ethan's Current Status: Noticed Grace Smith left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.]

Grace POV

The third time I pushed open Ethan's office door, Serena was leaning against his shoulder, watching a surgical video.

They were so close, you couldn't even slip a piece of paper between them.

On the screen was a replay of a hip replacement surgery. Serena pointed at a specific frame and said something. Ethan tilted his head slightly, almost touching her forehead as he looked.

I stood in the doorway, still holding the dinner I'd brought him.

The steam from the meal box was slowly fading away.

"Ethan."

He turned his head only when he heard my voice.

No panic, no evasion, he didn't even adjust his posture much.

Serena did shift slightly to the side, but it was a minimal movement, almost like she was doing it just for show.

I stared at the flimsy distance between them and asked,"Can you explain this?"

Ethan frowned.

"Grace, can you stop always jumping to conclusions?"

He turned back to the screen, dismissing me with,"You wouldn't understand academic stuff."

I'd heard that line too many times.

He'd discuss research topics late into the night with Serena. When I asked about it, he'd say I wouldn't understand.

He'd take Serena on business trips for academic conferences. When I asked, he'd say I wouldn't understand.

He'd put Serena's name as the second author on a paper, a paper whose data *I* had compiled.

When I asked, he'd still say, I wouldn't understand.

It was as if those three words were a wall, forever keeping me out of the world he truly cared about.

I placed the meal box on the corner of the table and left.

Silence followed me.

As I reached the end of the hallway, I glanced down at my phone.

A new notification.

It was from an app I'd never downloaded.

The icon was a gray circle with a thin electrocardiogram waveform inside.

The name was just one word: Observer.

The notification content was a small line of text.

[Ethan's Current Status: Noticed Grace left, paused surgical video. Silence duration: 4 minutes 12 seconds.]

I stared at the words for a long time.

He was silent for 4 minutes and 12 seconds.

And then what?

I looked back down the hallway.

His office door was still closed, the light shining through the frosted glass showing two figures, one tall, one short.

The video was probably playing again.

I pulled my gaze away, tucked my phone into my pocket, and headed for the elevator.

…

I first met Ethan during my senior year internship.

He was two years ahead of me, already a resident doctor in Orthopedics, famous throughout the medical school for two things: his excellent surgical skills and a terrible temper that made no one want to assist him.

He always had a stern face during rounds, and spoke incredibly little.

When teaching, he'd say things once, and if you couldn't keep up, that was your problem.

Everyone was scared of him.

Only I thought he wasn't truly cold, just unsure how to interact with people.

Because I noticed a detail: every time he finished a night shift, he would secretly drink the nearly expired yogurt from the department's public fridge, then buy new ones to replace them.

He seemed to not want others to drink expired things, but he would also never proactively say, "This is about to expire, don't drink it."

All his kindness was like that, quiet and unacknowledged, like hiding something in your pocket; as long as it fit, no one else needed to see it.

I thought such a person was actually very soft.

So I started to actively approach him.

Ethan initially completely ignored my pursuit.

I persisted for a year and a half.

In that year and a half, I brought him countless meals, copied three volumes of his surgical notes, and helped him organize study materials during exam week, though he never used them.

Until one day, he finished a seven-hour emergency surgery. It was almost dawn when he came out of the operating room.

I was sitting on a bench in the hallway, clutching a cup of cold coffee.

He saw me, stopped for a moment.

Then he walked over, took the coffee from my hand, and took a sip.

It was cold.

He frowned, but didn't say anything, and continued drinking.

After he finished, he handed me the empty cup and said,"Don't wait for me anymore."

But the next day, on my internship evaluation form, he gave me the highest score in the department.

The remarks read: "Solid fundamentals, diligent attitude, recommended for hospital residency."