Episode 4

Monday – 8:03 AM

The rhythm of the city kicked in hard by Monday.

Ezra was already scrubbed in by sunrise, masked up under the sterile lights of Midtown General. His world was a blur of charts, beeping monitors, and clipped nurse reports. The patient in OR3 was stable now, the procedure successful. Still, his mind wandered.

A corner of banana bread sat in his locker. Wrapped carefully. Untouched.

He’d meant to eat it after rounds. He didn’t.

Instead, he kept thinking about how Jasmine looked on that bench—shoulders drawn, but eyes sharp, like she was weighing the pros and cons of letting herself soften.

“Dr. Callahan,” a nurse called. “Trauma incoming. Motor vehicle accident, early twenties.”

He straightened. Time to focus. Feelings could wait.

—

Jasmine was already in her office by 7:30, standing at the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan like a general surveying her battlefield. She wore navy today, her power color, and heels that clicked like punctuation on polished marble.

Her assistant popped in with coffee and updates.

“Venture group confirmed 2 PM. The Singapore call’s moved to tomorrow, and HR sent over the short list for the creative director hire.”

Jasmine took the tablet, eyes skimming over the names. “Tell HR to drop anyone who still uses Comic Sans on their website.”

The assistant blinked. “Noted.”

She breezed through emails, signed off on a product launch proposal, and flagged a sponsorship deal for review. Everything was clean, orderly, hers.

But somewhere around her second espresso shot, her phone buzzed.

Ezra:

Hope your Monday’s less brutal than mine.

(Also, surprise: I’m not offering banana bread this time.)

You’ll have to miss me the old-fashioned way.

She stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered... then tapped.

Jasmine:

You’d be surprised how forgettable you are in boardrooms.

A beat. Then another buzz.

Ezra:

Ruthless.

You ever get tired of pretending you don’t like me?

Jasmine:

Do you ever get tired of assuming I do?

She smirked, then locked her phone.

She had meetings to run. Feelings could wait.

—

Elsewhere in the city, Lena rearranged scarves and cardigans on the front rack of her boutique, eyes flicking to the entrance every time the bell jingled. Business was steady, but her thoughts weren’t.

She hadn’t told Jasmine yet, but she’d seen Sophie again—just briefly, picking up coffee across the street. Sophie had smiled and said, “Still best dressed in the zip code.”

Lena smiled politely, but her gut twisted. She didn’t know if Jasmine would want to hear it. Or if she should.

—

Miles was knee-deep in CAD designs and construction schedules, his tablet littered with notes in messy handwriting and coffee rings. The firm had just secured a new contract—a high-rise in Brooklyn—and he was in charge of structural integrity analysis.

But between formulas, he thought about brunch. About Jasmine walking away. About Ezra staring at the door long after she’d gone.

He wasn’t the most emotional of their group, but even he could tell—

This wasn’t just flirtation anymore. It was becoming something... heavier.

—

That Night – 9:41 PM

Ezra walked out of the hospital, exhausted but restless. He passed a bakery, paused, then shook his head and kept walking.

Jasmine was still at her desk, half her blouse undone and sleeves rolled up, eyes scanning data. She’d replied to his text, finally.

Jasmine:

I don’t hate banana bread.

Just the timing.

He read it twice.

Then once more.