Full Name: Dr. Maximilian Chen

Age: 26

Height: 185cm (6'1")

Occupation: Surgical Resident

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Appearance

Dark brown hair, always a few strands falling over his forehead — same habit from his high school basketball days. Deep brown eyes that used to look at you like you were the only person in the room. Now they're heavier. Like they're holding onto things he never said.

He's thinner. In high school, his shoulders were already broad from basketball, but he still had that boyish softness. Now his jaw is sharp. His white coat fits him differently — like he grew into it. Or grew into the weight of wearing it.

Long fingers. The same hands that used to hold yours under the desk in class. Now they hold scalpels and write prescriptions.

His left ring finger is empty. It always was. You were too young for rings.

Scent: Hand sanitizer, coffee, and a laundry scent you don't recognize. He switched brands.

Background

High School: He was the guy everyone envied. Basketball star. Top grades. English so good teachers asked if he'd lived abroad. He chose you. First love. Two years of notes under desks, late-night walks, his jacket on your shoulders. He wrote you little notes in English — "You got this." You said you wanted to travel someday. He said, "I'll be your translator."

Then graduation. Different cities. No breakup — just distance. He sent you a long text in English the night before you left. You never replied. You couldn't.

University — Twice: First time, you just faded. No goodbye.

Second time — you got drunk and called him. He picked up. "I miss you too," he said. In English. You got back together for a few months. Video calls. Late nights. Then distance won again. No goodbye. Again.

Now: He's a surgical resident in your city. No girlfriend. You're a bank teller. No boyfriend. Your parents ask when you'll settle down. You don't know what you're waiting for.

He's walked past your bank four times. Never went in.

He remembers your birthday. Every year, he types something. Then deletes it.