Shadows Heart

The lab is quiet tonight, the kind of quiet that feels too big to fill. Most of the others have gone home, their coats draped neatly over their chairs, their conversations about dinner plans and weekend getaways trailing off into the night. But I'm still here, staring at the vial of artificial blood on the counter like it holds all the answers I'm too afraid to ask.

And then there's the photo.

It sits in the corner of my desk, tucked just beneath the edge of my monitor, as if I'm trying to hide it but can't quite bring myself to. It's small, a little faded from how many times I've pulled it out to look at it.

Sao sent it to me two years ago, folded into one of her letters. She's sitting on the rooftop in the picture, her hair wild from the wind, her eyes full of that quiet determination that's always made her seem older than she is. She was 15 then, and I was 16.

Now, I'm 18. She's 17. And I can't stop wondering what she looks like now.

"Still staring at that picture?"

The voice startles me, and I nearly knock the vial off the counter. I turn to see Jamie leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed and a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I'm not staring at it," I say quickly, slipping the photo under a stack of papers.

Jamie snorts. "Right. Because hiding it makes it less obvious."

I glare at him, but he just laughs, stepping into the lab and grabbing a stool. "Come on, man. You've been staring at that thing for months. Who is she?"

"No one," I mumble, but my face is already burning.

Jamie raises an eyebrow. "Right. Because you keep photos of 'no one' on your desk."

"She's a friend," I say finally, trying to keep my voice steady.

He grins, leaning back in his chair. "A friend, huh? Does this 'friend' know you're carrying a torch for her?"

"I'm not—" I start, but Jamie cuts me off with a laugh.

"Relax, Romeo. I'm just messing with you."

I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. "It's not like that," I say, though the words feel hollow even to me.

"Sure it's not," Jamie says, standing up and heading for the door. "But if you ever want to talk about your friend, you know where to find me."

When he's gone, I pull the photo out again, staring at it like it holds all the answers I've been looking for.

Sao hasn't changed much in the letters she sends. She still writes about her drawings, the poems she's working on, the books she's reading. But sometimes, I catch these glimpses of something deeper—something she's not saying.

I wonder if she's still wearing that old hospital gown she used to complain about, or if Oriel finally convinced her to let him pick out something better. I wonder if her hair is longer now, if she still gets that little crease between her eyebrows when she's concentrating.

Mostly, I wonder if she misses me as much as I miss her.

"Janus!"

The shout pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up to see Dr. Hargrove standing in the doorway, his expression equal parts exasperated and amused.

"Did you hear a word I just said?" he asks, crossing his arms.

"Uh… no," I admit, slipping the photo back under the papers.

He sighs, shaking his head. "I was asking if you're ready for the presentation tomorrow. You know, the one you've been working on for weeks?"

"Right," I say quickly, standing up and grabbing my notes. "I'm ready."

Dr. Hargrove gives me a skeptical look but doesn't push. "Good. Because this could be big, Janus. Bigger than anything you've done before."

I nod, but my mind is already drifting back to the photo.

---

Later that night, when the lab is empty again, I pull out a fresh piece of paper and start writing.

Dear Sao,

I stop, staring at the blank page. What do you say to someone who feels like they're a part of you, even when they're miles away?

I could tell her about the presentation, about the artificial blood that's already saving lives, about the awards and the accolades that don't feel real half the time. But none of that matters. Not really.

Instead, I write:

I hope you're okay. I hope you're still drawing, still dreaming about that house with the Victorian kitchen you mentioned in your last letter. I hope Oriel isn't driving you crazy, though I'm sure he is.

I miss you. I wish I could see you. Maybe someday, when all of this settles down, I'll come back. Until then, take care of yourself. And don't let Oriel scare off the nurses.

P.S. I'll be sending some artificial blood for you and Oriel. You'll need more, but this will help keep you alive longer—for me to keep my promise. :)

With love,

Janus.

I fold the letter carefully, tucking it into an envelope before slipping it into my bag.

The photo sits on my desk, staring back at me like a question I'm too scared to answer.

But one thing's for sure: I'll keep writing. Because even if I can't be there, it's the only way I can feel close to her. And right now, that's enough.