Chapter 12
Celestia's POV
The room was quiet, save for the soft footsteps of her mother entering. Celestia turned her head slightly, instinctively sensing the shift in presence.
"Sweetheart," her mother said gently, "something arrived for you."
Celestia's brow furrowed. "From who?"
"There was no name," her mother replied. "Just a delivery—a basket of fruits and a bouquet of flowers. The nurse said it was sent anonymously."
Celestia lifted her chin. The faint scent of flowers was unmistakable—subtle, clean, calming. Lilies, maybe. There was a soft citrus tang in the air, too—fresh fruits.
"Did they say anything else?" she asked.
"No. Just that it was meant for you."
Celestia reached out, her fingers brushing against the smooth skin of an apple, then tracing the cool petals of a flower beside the bed. Everything felt carefully arranged.
Her lips curved into a half-smile. "That's a lot of effort for a stranger."
Her mother laughed softly. "Maybe someone admires you. Or a close friend?"
Celestia paused. A question tugged at her chest.
"…Could it be JC?" she murmured. "The boyfriend who reintroduced himself to me? If it was him… that's kind of crazy."
She let out a small breath, leaning back into her pillows. "He barely says a word when he visits, but sends a whole arrangement like this? It's not like him."
Her mother didn't respond right away. She simply placed a hand over Celestia's and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Whoever sent it—friend, admirer, or someone hiding behind silence—it left a warmth in the room. And a question in her heart.
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The door creaked open again.
Celestia perked up at the sound of familiar footsteps—slightly heavier, less careful. She knew who it was even before he spoke.
"Hey," JC said, his voice casual, almost too cheerful. "I brought something for you."
The scent of fast food followed him into the room—something fried, something cheesy.
Celestia tilted her head. "Was it you who sent the fruits and flowers earlier?"
JC paused. "What?"
"The delivery. The basket. It came this morning. Was that from you?"
He scoffed lightly. "No. Wasn't me."
Then, as if to prove something, he added, "I brought my own stuff for you, see? That's not from me. This—" she heard the rustling of a paper bag, "—this is mine. Something I picked up myself."
There was a beat of silence.
Celestia didn't respond right away.
Her fingers rested gently on the bedsheet, and her expression remained unreadable. But deep inside, something shifted.
---
Meanwhile…
Dr. Kheo's POV
Inside the small staff lounge, the CCTV monitor quietly displayed the live feed from Room 207—Celestia's room.
Kheo leaned back in his chair, sipping lukewarm coffee, eyes fixed on the screen. The corner camera showed JC standing awkwardly by the bedside, holding a greasy paper bag, while Celestia sat calmly, her face unreadable.
He couldn't hear every word perfectly through the mic, but the tone was enough.
Then came the line:
"I brought my own stuff for you, see? That's not from me."
Celestia didn't respond.
Kheo smirked.
He chuckled under his breath and shook his head. "Overthinking again, JC."
He leaned forward slightly, still smiling. "It's just flowers and fruit. Why so defensive?"
He watched as JC tried to explain himself further, fumbling through small talk, clearly trying to reclaim control of the moment.
Kheo let out a quiet laugh again, tapping a pen against his palm.
"Relax, man," he muttered. "She's already suspicious of you without the help."
And yet, despite the amusement in his voice, his eyes softened a little as they stayed fixed on Celestia—calm, patient, unknowingly holding all the cards.
Kheo leaned back in his seat, still watching the screen, but the amusement slowly faded from his smile.
The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the monitor and the ticking wall clock.
He exhaled through his nose and muttered to himself, "This is the first time I did something like that… for someone."
His fingers tapped lightly against the armrest. He wasn't sure if he was proud or just confused.
"For someone like this girl," he said again, softer this time.
He glanced at the empty receipt on the desk beside him—the one he'd made sure had no name, no clue it ever came from him.
"I'm insane or what?"
A small laugh escaped him, almost bitter. He ran a hand through his hair, still watching her on the screen—still blind, still calm, still unaware.
And for some reason, that made it easier.
Maybe it was better this way.
"I'm insane or what?" he repeated under his breath.
The words lingered in the air, heavier now.
He looked back at the screen. Celestia was speaking again—softly, like she always did—but he couldn't hear her exact words anymore. That wasn't what mattered.
His brows furrowed.
"Am I…" he paused, staring at his reflection faintly visible on the black edges of the monitor. "Am I falling for her?"
He let out a shaky breath and leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together.
"Or am I just doing this… because I want her to smile?"
He rubbed his face with one hand, frustrated at his own uncertainty. "I don't even know her that well. She doesn't even know me."
His gaze flicked back to the fruit basket he'd carefully chosen that morning—he remembered agonizing over the ripeness of the mangoes, the brightness of the flowers, the softness of the colors.
"And yet here I am. Skipping rounds. Checking the monitor like a maniac."
He fell silent for a few moments, just watching her.
She didn't even know someone was rooting for her in the shadows.
"…I'm losing it." A dry chuckle escaped him, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Maybe it's both."
He stood up slowly, still staring at the screen.
"She doesn't need to know," he whispered. "She just needs to feel better."
And with that, he turned the volume down, letting her room fade into silence—yet not quite looking away.
He stood in front of the monitor for a few more seconds, arms crossed, jaw tight.
Then, almost on instinct, he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a small folded note—the one he almost included in the fruit basket.
He stared at the words he'd scribbled last night. Just a single line:
"You're not alone."
His thumb brushed over the ink, now smudged slightly from his hesitation.
He folded it back slowly, eyes still on the screen. JC was still in the room, trying to make her laugh. Celestia only offered polite responses, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.
Kheo slipped the note back into his pocket and exhaled sharply.
Then he muttered with a crooked smile, half amused, half defeated—
"Guess you'll never know, huh?"
And he walked out of the lounge, the screen still glowing behind him—
as if his presence had never been there at all.
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