Chapter 4: Unknown Caller and The Request
1099 Words
You were asleep when it rang.
Your face was still pressed against the side of the couch, a blanket twisted around your legs, the half-finished wine glass abandoned somewhere near your knee.
The soft buzz of your phone cut through the silence like a scalpel.
You reached for it blindly, your mind too foggy to check the screen. You pressed answer.
"Hello?" your voice came out rough, low, sleep-creased.
And then—
"Aria."
The voice.
Your body froze.
You hadn't heard that voice in seven years.
Not since the day you packed your bag.
Not since the day no one stopped you.
Not since she watched you walk out of that house and didn't say a word.
"…Mother," you said quietly.
A pause. Then a polite hum, like you were a distant colleague, not her daughter.
"I hope I didn't wake you."
You closed your eyes for a moment, teeth gently pressing into the inside of your cheek.
"No," you lied. "I was awake."
Another pause.
"How are you doing?"
You blinked.
It was such a strange question. Not because she asked — but because she asked now.
"I'm fine," you said simply. "Working."
"That's good," she replied lightly, as though it mattered to her. "You've always been… focused."
The silence hung between you like mist.
You didn't ask how she was.
You didn't ask why she called.
You waited.
And then she got to it.
"…I suppose you heard about Mira's engagement."
Your fingers curled around the edge of the blanket.
"Yeah," you said. "I got the invitation."
You didn't add how long you stared at it.
Didn't add how the gold letters made your throat feel tight.
"Well," she said, exhaling like she was stepping into a business meeting, "it's a great honor for our family. The Ashford name is… quite something. Old money. Clean reputation. Power. And Rowan is—well, Mira's very lucky."
You didn't respond.
She continued anyway.
"We're very proud. And naturally, it would mean a lot for the Laurent name if we present a full, united family at the ceremony."
There it was.
Not we miss you.
Not I'd like to see you.
Not I'm sorry.
Just: "It won't look good if you're not there."
You pulled the blanket tighter around yourself, your voice flat.
"I have work."
She didn't flinch.
"Well, of course, but surely you can take a day or two off? I assume even hospitals allow leave."
The edge of her words was sugar-coated, but you heard the steel beneath it.
"It would be strange," she added softly, "if Mira's only sister wasn't there on the biggest day of her life."
Sister. That word again.
You exhaled slowly.
"I'll check my schedule."
She sounded satisfied. "Thank you. The dress code will be formal. I'll have Mira send over some details if needed. She'll be thrilled to see you."
You didn't say you doubted that.
You didn't say anything at all.
There was a short silence, and then—
"Take care of yourself, Aria."
She hung up.
No goodbye.
No I love you.
Just click.
You sat there in the dark for a long time, the dial tone ringing in your ears.
Then you placed the phone on the coffee table, turned off the light, and lay back down on the couch.
Your eyes were open.
But you didn't feel awake.
Not yet.
The hospital walls felt colder today.
Or maybe it was just you.
Your steps echoed sharper down the hallway. You kept your coat buttoned higher than usual, fingers in the pockets, posture straight, eyes calm.
To anyone watching, you looked like usual.
But you weren't.
You were tired in a different way. Not surgical exhaustion. Not blood-pressure fatigue.
Just… hollow.
The wine from last night hadn't given you a headache, but your mother's voice had. It kept bouncing around your skull like a loose marble.
"It would be strange if Mira's only sister wasn't there…"
You adjusted your stethoscope around your neck and pressed open the door to your first patient.
He smiled at you. An older gentleman recovering from a valve replacement.
"Doc," he greeted. "You look tired."
You smiled back, gentle and even. "Well, at least I still look like a doctor."
He chuckled, and you checked his charts.
Every patient you visited that morning — you were kind. Attentive. Professional.
But Elena noticed it first. The dullness in your eyes. How you didn't crack jokes. How you didn't steal her coffee out of her hand just to annoy her.
She didn't say anything. Just kept looking.
You finished your rounds in silence.
Later that afternoon, you stood outside the glass-paned door of Dr. Hayashi, your division head.
You rarely came to this office unless you were called. You never asked for favors. Never requested a shift swap. Definitely never requested leave.
You knocked once.
His voice replied immediately. "Come in."
You stepped inside.
Dr. Hayashi was seated behind his desk, sleeves rolled up, reading glasses on. He looked up over the rim of his frames and raised an eyebrow when he saw you.
"Dr. Laurent. Everything alright?"
You nodded once. "Yes, sir."
He set down his pen.
You stood straight, hands behind your back, like muscle memory.
"I wanted to request three days leave for next week," you said. "Thursday through Saturday. Possibly returning by Monday."
There was a moment of silence.
Then he blinked.
"You."
You tilted your head slightly. "Yes."
He leaned back in his chair, clasped his hands together.
"In the five years I've seen you work here," he said slowly, "you've never taken leave. Not once. You were back in rotation four days after your appendix surgery."
"I know."
"May I ask the reason?"
You hesitated for a second too long. Then: "Family matter."
He studied your face.
You didn't look away.
Eventually, he nodded.
"I'll approve it," he said. "As long as Dr. Yoneda can cover Thursday's trauma slot and you finish your cases by Wednesday."
"I will," you said immediately.
"You don't have to work yourself into a corner to earn three days, Laurent."
"I know," you said again.
Another pause. Then, softer: "Is everything alright?"
You gave a polite smile. "It's just a wedding."
He stared for a beat longer.
"Very well," he said. "Send in the official form by tonight."
You nodded. "Thank you, sir."
As you turned to leave, he added behind you,
"Whatever it is, I hope it's not the kind of thing you carry back with you."
You paused at the door.
And then you left.
You didn't respond.
Because it already was.
- Writer
