Episode 16
1116 Words
Karla stepped through the tall gates of the medical college hospital, her white coat folded neatly over her arm. Her stethoscope hung lightly from her neck, but the weight on her chest felt heavier than ever.
It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—coming back. She had cleared her exams. She was an intern now. She should’ve been excited, determined. Instead, a strange dread tightened around her ribs.
The corridors felt unfamiliar in a hauntingly familiar way.
It started with a glance.
Then a whisper.
Then silence.
The nurse at the main desk barely nodded when Karla greeted her. A group of juniors she'd mentored avoided her eyes. Even Dr. Sinha, who’d once praised her report-writing skills, offered a clipped smile before disappearing into the ward.
She tried not to notice. *Maybe they’re just busy. Maybe it’s just her imagination.*
But her heart knew better.
She walked toward the OB-GYN department, where she was assigned for her first rotational posting. She was finally going to assist in live births, surgeries—the field she’d fallen in love with.
But the department board read something else.
**"Dr. Christopher Fernandes – On Academic Leave."**
Her breath caught. *Leave?*
She walked inside and asked one of the postgrads, “Excuse me, is Dr. Christopher not taking interns anymore?”
The girl barely looked up. “He’s been given a suspension period. Until the board reviews the decision.”
Karla blinked. “Suspension?”
The girl gave her a curious side-glance, then walked away.
And just like that, the knot in Karla’s stomach confirmed everything she feared.
The silence, the cold shoulders—it was about *them*.
The rumors had spread.
And Christopher was paying for it.
Her chest twisted with guilt and confusion. It wasn’t supposed to be this way. They hadn’t even *done* anything wrong. A funfair visit. A day off-campus. She had thought it was just a quiet moment between two people figuring things out. She had *trusted* him.
But now… it was as if the world had re-written the narrative.
And he was gone.
Weeks passed in a blur of case sheets, rounds, and restless nights. Each time she passed the old lecture halls or the OB-GYN operation theatre, her eyes flickered—hoping he might be there. But Christopher’s name stayed absent from the rosters.
She never told anyone what had happened. Not even Jenna. Some wounds grew deeper in silence.
---
Meanwhile, on the other side of the city, Christopher sat at a rooftop bar, a drink sweating in his hand.
“Dude, you’re spacing out again,” said Armaan , slapping him on the shoulder.
Christopher blinked. The music was loud. The city lights blurred beyond the glass railing. His friends were laughing, clinking glasses, flirting with girls two tables down.
“C’mon, Chris,” Armaan continued. “You act like you got dumped or something.”
Christopher gave a hollow laugh. “It’s not that simple.”
“You got suspended for hanging out with a student. Big deal. It’s not like you were caught making out in a classroom.”
Another guy leaned in, grinning. “You were always the charmer, bro. You’ll bounce back. There are a hundred other girls lining up in college for you.”
Christopher stared into his glass. “That’s the problem. There *was* one who wasn’t like the others.”
“Was?” Armaan scoffed. “That Karla girl?”
Christopher looked up sharply.
“Yeah,” Armaan shrugged. “Everyone knows, man. Some juniors said she looked like a kicked puppy the other day. She probably thinks you ghosted her.”
The words stung more than they should have.
“I didn’t ghost her,” Christopher muttered.
“She messaged you, right? After exams?” another friend added, scrolling through his phone. “I saw your reply. *'Wishing you all the best'*? Damn bro, even LinkedIn responses have more warmth.”
Christopher exhaled slowly, pressing a knuckle to his temple. “I had to keep it professional. I was already being watched. Her name was getting dragged into conversations—*because of me*. I didn’t want her to get hurt.”
“Too late for that, genius,” Armaan said, pouring another drink. “Now both of you are miserable. Great job.”
There was a silence that lingered between them.
Christopher leaned back, eyes scanning the stars above.
“She told me once,” he said slowly, “that she believed in love like something sacred. That she didn’t want games or flings. That she had never truly trusted anyone like she did me.”
“Damn,” one of his friends said. “And you took her to a funfair.”
He gave a short laugh, but Christopher didn’t join.
“I told her once,” he said, barely above a whisper, “that I’d cheated before. That someone had loved me and I broke that. I told her maybe I was cursed—that I couldn’t feel things the way others did.”
“And she still stayed?” Armaan asked, genuinely surprised.
“She stayed,” Christopher replied. “She still sent me snaps. Initiated chats. Even when I asked her to be my ‘wingwoman’ for casual dates.”
Aditya whistled. “She was into you, man. Real hard.”
“She *deserved* better,” Christopher said flatly.
Silence fell again.
“You still think about her?” someone asked.
Christopher didn’t answer.
Instead, he pulled out his phone, opened i********:, and saw her latest post—Karla standing in her white coat with a newborn in her arms, face glowing. A caption read:
> *First delivery as an intern. 4.1 kg baby and a lot of adrenaline.*
He hovered over the like button.
Paused.
Scrolled away.
That simple act felt like cowardice.
But it also felt safer.
He had already hurt her once. If she was going to rise from this, he’d rather stay out of her way than drag her down again.
Still, somewhere deep down, he missed her voice. Her terrible puns. The way she’d ask about his favorite surgeries. The way her eyes sparkled when she talked about becoming a doctor.
He missed the version of himself that existed only when he was around her.
But the world didn’t let people like them stay soft for long.
---
Back at the hospital, Karla wiped her face in the on-call room mirror. Her shift had just ended. Her mind was tired, but her heart was louder than ever.
She had done nothing wrong.
Yet she was paying the price.
But maybe… just maybe… her story wasn’t over yet.
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- Writer
