Frostbound Chapter One

Chapter One: Familiar Strangers

The cool sterility of Akso Hospital didn’t usually rattle Dr. Zayne Li. The steady beep of heart monitors, the rustling of lab coats, the occasional burst of a code blue over the speakers—he moved through it all with detached precision. But this morning, his fingers drummed faintly against the folder in his hand, betraying the storm beneath his composed facade.

Arianne Rochefort.

Her name was printed neatly on the patient file, like it was just another case. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t.

They hadn’t seen each other in over a decade. Not since the summer before she left for that pristine French boarding school. Back then, they were inseparable—two kids in Linkon City, chasing fireflies, sneaking pastries from her mother’s kitchen, and whispering secrets under the stars.

He took a breath and pushed open the consultation room door.

Arianne stood by the window, bathed in pale sunlight. Her honey-blonde hair was pulled into a soft twist, and her floral dress—pink and cream with delicate lace—was entirely out of place in this clinical room, yet perfectly her. She turned, her face brightening instantly.

“Zayne?”

For a heartbeat, the years melted away. She was still the girl with flour on her cheeks and laughter in her eyes. But he was not the boy who had once held her hand in secret.

Zayne straightened. “Miss Rochefort,” he said, his voice cool. “Please, have a seat.”

Her smile faltered, eyebrows lifting slightly. “Miss Rochefort? Wow. Formal much?”

He motioned stiffly toward the chair opposite his desk. She sat, crossing her legs with the same graceful ease he remembered from their teen years. His eyes dropped to the file.

“I didn’t expect you to be the one treating me,” she said, resting her hands on her lap. “Well, not until I saw your name on the sign downstairs. Zayne Li, Head of Cardiothoracic Surgery. Look at you.”

He said nothing, flipping the file open, eyes scanning the brief notes from the nurse.

“Still not much of a talker, huh?”

“I talk when it’s necessary.”

She smiled faintly. “Right. Like when someone’s chest is open on the table.”

He glanced up then, eyes narrowing just a little. “You’ve been having shortness of breath. Dizziness. Chest tightness?”

“And déjà vu. You sound just like the nurse.”

“I want to hear it from you.”

Arianne’s smile faded slightly. “Yeah. It started a few weeks ago. Nothing too scary at first—just breathlessness after walking up the stairs at the shop. Then it got worse. Dizziness. Pressure. My dad insisted I get checked. You know how dramatic he gets.”

Zayne nodded once, business-like. “We’ll start with an echocardiogram, an EKG, and a 24-hour Holter monitor. I’ll also schedule some blood work. You’re not fainting, are you?”

“No. But... I do feel tired. A lot.” She hesitated. “It’s been getting harder to bake in the mornings.”

His brow furrowed, and for a split second, the stern mask cracked. “You shouldn’t be pushing yourself.”

“I’m not dying, Zayne.”

“You don’t know that yet.”

The room went quiet. She looked at him, studying his face.

“You haven’t changed,” she said softly.

“You have.”

“Better or worse?”

Zayne didn’t answer. He focused again on the chart.

“You used to write me letters,” she said. “Until one day, you stopped.”

“You left.”

“I sent postcards.”

“I was busy.”

She laughed—quiet, a little bitter. “So was I. But I still wrote. You really weren’t curious about me at all?”

His eyes finally met hers. They were darker than she remembered, more guarded.

“Every day,” he said.

The words slipped out before he could stop them. A flicker of surprise crossed her face.

“Then why—?”

“I didn’t want to know if something had happened to you.” His voice was low now, quieter. “I wasn’t ready to find out if you’d... forgotten.”

“I could never forget you,” she whispered.

A long pause stretched between them, thick with words neither dared say.

“You look... good,” she added after a beat, trying to lighten the air. “Different. Very serious. Is the hair slicked back to intimidate your patients?”

“I like order.”

“You always did,” she teased. “Remember how you lined up your colored pencils before we could even start drawing?”

Zayne didn’t smile, but he didn’t scowl either. “You used to steal the red ones.”

“They were the prettiest.”

He exhaled through his nose. Not quite a laugh. But close.

Her eyes softened. “It’s good to see you, Zayne.”

“Same,” he said, barely audible.

Their gazes lingered for a second too long.

Then Zayne cleared his throat and straightened. “I’ll have the nurses schedule your tests. Come back tomorrow for results.”

“Do I get a sticker if I survive all the poking and prodding?”

“No.”

“Mean.”

He stood, walking toward the door. “Don’t overwork yourself. I mean it.”

She tilted her head. “Is that a medical order?”

“It’s a Zayne order.”

Her smile returned, warm and real. “I missed those.”