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The words come easier now, each one pulling the next behind it.

“I think that’s why medicine has always made sense to me. I don’t expect to fix everything. I just want to be the person who walks into the room knowing how to help. Someone people can depend on when everything else feels uncertain.”

He holds my gaze for a long moment, as though weighing the words before deciding they matter enough to say out loud. “I think you’d be the kind of doctor people remember.”

Warmth spreads through me that has nothing to do with the vodka lingering in my glass. No one has ever answered that confession by talking about the kind of doctor I’d become. They tell me to study harder next time and start listing statistics about medical school acceptance rates. But he simply looks at me as though he believes every word he just said, then leaves the silence exactly where it is, asking for nothing in return.

The edge of my mother’s ring catches beneath my thumb as I turn it around my finger again. “What about you? You said you’re leaving Houston.”

He leans back slightly, his fingers absently turning his empty glass against the polished wood. “Yeah.”

“Going anywhere exciting?”

“That depends on who you ask.”

His smile disappears almost as quickly as it arrived, slipping away so naturally that I wonder if I only notice because I’ve spent most of the evening trying to hide the same look.

“You don’t sound excited about leaving.”

His thumb traces the rim of his glass before he answers. “I’m not sure excited is the right word.”

Before I can decide whether to ask another question, the bartender returns, balancing two baskets along one forearm.

“Careful,” he says as he sets them in front of us. “The fries are fresh.”

The rich scent hits me almost immediately, reminding me how long it’s been since I ate anything. I skipped lunch because my stomach was in knots waiting for my MCAT score, then I spent most of the day convincing myself I wasn’t hungry. I peel back the wax paper around my burger while he does the same beside me.

“This is the part where you find out whether I know what I’m talking about.”

The first bite burns the roof of my mouth almost instantly, and I press my lips together as if pretending nothing happened will somehow undo it.

“Too hot?”

I look over to find him watching me with the unmistakable amusement of someone who’s witnessed the entire disaster unfold. Heat creeps into my cheeks that has nothing to do with the burger anymore, and despite every instinct telling me to be embarrassed, a laugh escapes anyway.

“I was told you were the expert.”

“On ordering,” I manage to say after swallowing carefully enough not to make the mistake twice. “Eating requires a completely different skill set.”

His laugh folds easily into mine, warm enough that I'm smiling before I remember I’ve spent most of today trying not to. It shouldn’t matter because he’s a stranger I’ll probably never see again, but maybe that’s why it’s so easy to let myself smile with him.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I whisper, my eyes focused on the food in front of me, suddenly fascinated with pulling another fry apart between my fingers. “About why you’re leaving. You let me decide which parts of my story belonged to me. I figured I’d do the same for you.”

“Most people don’t stop asking until they get an answer,” he responds softly.

“Most people don’t like unfinished stories.” I glance down at my ring, turning it once before letting it settle back against my finger. “I’ve learned that wanting an answer doesn’t mean someone owes me one.”

He doesn’t answer right away, stealing a handful of fries before shaking his head. “You always this reasonable?”

I wrinkle my nose. “Absolutely not.”

“Good, because reasonable people don’t order fries they refuse to share.”

I stare at him for a beat before sliding my basket an inch farther away from his side of the bar.

“You’re proving my point.”

“I’m protecting my investment.”