Forbidden Diagnosis, Some Wounds Medicine Can't Heal

Anya

The next two weeks blurred into long-hour shifts and post-call exhaustion. Mostly, Zara and I had the same on-call schedule, which was a blessing. Our shifts aligned perfectly, and somehow, from the first day, we had gone from strangers to friends to roommates, and that was rare, but I guess I got lucky.

After two weeks, we finally had a weekend off.

In college, you never think of a weekend as a blessing, but trust me, once residency begins, it feels like divine intervention.

We'd worked more than eighty hours each week, which meant we barely had time to eat, sleep, or soothe our aching muscles after every call. But this weekend? This was a treat we both needed and deserved after all the chaos.

It was Friday, and after today's shift, we'd decided to finally get some things for the apartment. Falling into a rhythm with Zara had been easier than I expected. She was funny, calm under pressure, and she knew when to talk and when to just exist beside me in silence, something not everyone knows how to do.

We were in the last hour of our shift. I had seen Zara look at the clock for the hundredth time since noon and I couldnt hold back from smiling.

I was completing a patient's chart without looking up I teased when she did that again, "You know its not gonna go any quicker if you keep looking at the clock every five minutes"

she groaned, "I wouldn't have to if it'd move any quicker, I swear that clock is broken."

I laughed closing the file, but before i could respond Dr. Wilson joined us.

"Ladies", he smiled his easy smile, "bunch of us are going to the bar after the shift, wanna join."

Zara accepted for both of us, before he even finished his sentence.

"God knows we need to see more faces than just each other's," Zara had laughed.

She wasn't wrong.

The bar was already packed by the time we got there. It was the unofficial after-hours spot for Ashbourne Memorial staff. The one place where everyone, from interns to attendings, came to breathe without a stethoscope around their necks. The hum of voices and laughter, the clinking of glasses, and the low buzz of a live band filled the air.

Zara and I managed to squeeze our way through the crowd. She waved at a couple of nurses she recognized, while I tried not to trip over someone's discarded jacket.

It felt strange seeing everyone out of scrubs. People you'd seen covered in blood or sweat or tears now looked... human. Relaxed. Beautiful even.

Luke joined us a few minutes later, flashing his easy grin. "You two look alive for once. Miracles do happen."

"Barely," I said. "One shift away from turning into hospital furniture."

"I swear," Zara said between sips of her drink, "if one more attending asks me to 'fetch the labs,' I'm going to fetch them straight to the lab."

He chuckled and waved to the bartender for another round. Zara nudged me under the table and whispered, "See? We're socializing. I told you it'd be good for us."

I laughed, the kind that felt good in my chest after days of silence and exhaustion.

I smiled, scanning the bar just curious. Familiar faces everywhere. A few residents from cardiology.

The emergency nurses. Even Dr. Patel from internal medicine dancing terribly near the jukebox.

Zara groaned. "Feels illegal to be awake without scrubs on."

I was about to laugh when I saw him.

Dr. Felix Ashbourne.

Sitting alone at the far end of the bar, half in shadow, half in the amber light of the overhead lamp. A glass of whiskey in his hand, untouched. His expression distant. Brooding.

Something about the way he sat, elbows on the bar, head slightly bowed, made my chest tighten. He looked like he was carrying a world no one else could see.

His shirt sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing forearms I had no business noticing. The light caught the sharp line of his jaw, the faint tiredness beneath his eyes, not the kind from long hours, but the kind that comes from carrying too much.

And suddenly, I couldn't look away.

Why was he here alone? Why wasn't he with his girlfriend? He had to have one, right? Someone like him always did.

I pulled myself back. Why did it matter? Why was my heart reacting like this? He was my superior. My boss's boss's boss. This curiosity wasn't just stupid, it was dangerous.

"Earth to Anya," Zara said, snapping her fingers in front of my face. "Where'd you go just now?"

I blinked and turned back to her, forcing a smile. "Nowhere. Just thinking about how good this drink tastes."

She grinned, not buying it for a second. "Right. You were totally not staring across the bar like you just saw a ghost."

I opened my mouth to protest, but she followed my gaze, and saw him.

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh. That ghost."

I groaned. "Shut up."

"I'm not judging," she teased, sipping her cocktail. "I mean, I get it. The man looks like he was sculpted by divine hands and expensive genetics."

"Zara..."

"Relax, I'm not going to say anything. But maybe don't stare like that unless you want everyone to know you've got it bad."

"I do not."

"Uh-huh."

Her smirk made me want to disappear into the floor.

He was still there, still quiet, still completely alone in a room full of people. There was something in that loneliness that hurt to look at, though I couldn't say why.

The band started a new song, slow, smoky. Laughter rippled across the tables. Luke leaned in to tell Zara a story about the time he accidentally paged the wrong consultant at 3 a.m., and everyone laughed, but I barely heard them.

I told myself to stop. To focus. To not read meaning into a man drinking his solitude away.

But when he looked up, just once and his gaze met mine.

And the air left my lungs.

It wasn't long, maybe a heartbeat, but something in that moment tightened the world around me. His eyes, sharp, assessing, unreadable, lingered for just a second longer than they should have.

Then he looked away. Took another drink. Like nothing happened.

I exhaled slowly, pulse unsteady, trying to convince myself that it was nothing. Just a glance.

But somehow, I knew it wasn't.

Not for me.