Chapter 1
1628 Words
The alarm on her phone buzzed faintly against the wooden nightstand, a low tremor echoing in the stillness of her small apartment. Dr. Lila Moreno groaned softly, dragging one arm from beneath the blanket to silence it. For a fragile moment, she lingered between the edges of dream and day, pressing her face into the pillow, pretending she could buy herself five more minutes. But she knew better.
Mornings weren’t just schedules for her; they were scaffolding. The rituals that held her life together. If she let one thing slip, the rest of the day tilted out of balance.
She sat up, the comforter sliding from her shoulders, and swung her legs over the bed. The wooden floor was cool beneath her bare feet. Her eyes fell on the small desk in the corner, where a leather-bound notebook rested beside a ballpoint pen. She hadn’t written in it last night. That was unusual. Most nights, before she turned off the light, she wrote to him.
Her brother.
Even now, ten years later, the habit clung to her like a second skin. She wasn’t sure when it had stopped being raw grief and become something else, a ritual, as ordinary as brushing her teeth or tying her hair before work. She would open the notebook, address him by name, and spill out the details of her day. Naomi said something ridiculous today. I burned the rice again. I don’t know what I’m doing with my life, but I hope you’d be proud.
Her fingers touched the notebook lightly, then pulled away. No time now.
The bathroom mirror reflected her with clinical honesty. Olive-toned skin that never seemed to shift shades, no matter how much sun she got. Dark, wavy hair tugged back into a low bun more from habit than style. Hazel eyes with flecks of green that people sometimes called beautiful, though she rarely believed them. Her body was slender, shaped more by long hospital shifts than any intentional routine.
Practical. That was the word she always reached for. She wasn’t someone who turned heads. Not someone with the luxury of fragility or glamour. Practical. Reliable.
She brushed her teeth, washed her face, and dressed quickly in navy slacks and a cream blouse. Her lab coat lay folded neatly in her bag. At the door, she paused, sliding a wristwatch onto her arm; an antique piece, the leather strap softened by years of wear. It had belonged to her brother. The second hand ticked faintly, steady, reliable. She adjusted it and whispered under her breath, “Okay. Another day.”
By the time she arrived at Saint Ives Hospital, the city was in full motion. The entrance teemed with early patients, nurses rushing to morning shifts, and weary residents heading home. The sliding glass doors admitted a stream of sounds: laughter, clipped orders, the squeak of rubber soles. Lila threaded through it all, nodding to familiar faces, offering her small, polite smiles. She always felt a strange sense of purpose when crossing the hospital threshold. Not joy exactly, but something that steadied her.
The pharmacy, tucked on the ground floor, glared under fluorescent lights, its shelves neatly ordered and its counters gleaming.
Naomi was already there, perched on the counter as if she owned it, scrolling through her phone with one leg swinging lazily.
“You’re late,” Naomi announced without looking up.
“I’m not late,” Lila replied, setting her bag on her chair and logging into the computer. “I’m exactly on time.”
Naomi finally glanced over, grinning. “Exactly on time in the pharmacy world. I’ve been here since seven-thirty.”
“You live closer.”
Naomi’s grin widened. “True. Which is why I get bragging rights.”
She hopped down, her curly hair bouncing, her pink flamingo-print scrubs absurdly cheerful against the sterile backdrop. “But since I’m merciful, I’ll forgive you. If you buy me lunch.”
Lila shook her head, fighting a smile. Naomi didn’t argue so much as tease until you surrendered.
The morning fell into rhythm. Lila lost herself in stock counts and prescriptions, the comfort of rules and order. Pain relievers were low in stock, antibiotics were just enough for a week's supply, and controlled substances remained sealed under lock and key.
Nothing hidden, everything documented. She preferred it that way.
Patients trickled in, an elderly man with trembling hands and a long list of medications, a young mother clutching antibiotics for her toddler, a nurse requesting refills in bulk. The hum of need and care wrapped around her, steady and grounding.
And then there was him.
He lingered longer than most at the counter, a man in his early thirties with dark hair, rough stubble, and a worn leather jacket. He slid his prescription forward without small talk, his eyes scanning the room more than her.
“Marcus Vega,” he said when she asked for his name. His voice was low, slightly rough, like gravel underfoot.
She keyed in the details quickly, but something about his gaze made her uneasy. He wasn’t looking at her the way most patients did. Not casually but with intent.
When she returned with his paper bag, he accepted it silently, his eyes flicking briefly to her wristwatch. Her hand twitched back instinctively, shielding the watch against her body.
“Take it twice daily,” she said, her voice firmer than she intended.
He nodded once and left without another word.
Naomi materialized at her side immediately, smirking. “Cute guy. What’s your problem?”
“He was… strange. Did you see the way he looked at me?”
“Yeah,” Naomi teased. “Like you were cute. Honestly, Lila, you’re impossible.”
“I’m not looking,” she muttered, logging the transaction.
Naomi laughed, tossing her curls. “You never are.”
The rush eased by noon, leaving a rare lull. Lila leaned back, stretching until her shoulders cracked. Naomi unwrapped her sandwich noisily.
“You know what you need?” Naomi declared between bites. “Vacation. Somewhere warm. Preferably, where you can finally wear something other than boring blouses.”
“Abandon you here with the paperwork?” Lila arched an eyebrow.
“Please. That’d be a blessing.” Naomi waved her sandwich dramatically. “You, sipping cocktails, maybe meeting someone who isn’t eighty-five and asking if whiskey goes with blood pressure meds. Me, enjoying two weeks of silence. Win-win.”
Lila rolled her eyes, though a laugh escaped her. Naomi’s dramatics were impossible to resist.
Her gaze drifted toward her bag. The notebook inside waited for her — a blank page, a voice she hadn’t answered. A small ache pressed in her chest.
“Some of us don’t need constant drama,” she said lightly.
“You mistake fun for drama,” Naomi shot back. “Big difference.”
Before Lila could respond, the pharmacy doors hissed open. A group of residents spilled in, their chatter echoing. Among them was
Dr. Adrian Hale.
Tall, broad-shouldered, striking in a navy shirt with sleeves rolled neatly at his elbows. His laughter was warm, effortless, drawing eyes without force. Heads seemed to turn automatically, as though gravity shifted around him.
Naomi elbowed Lila. “Here comes Mr. Perfect.”
“Naomi,” Lila hissed, ducking her head toward the shelves.
But Adrian spotted her, and his smile widened as he approached. “Dr. Moreno,” he greeted smoothly. “How’s pharmacy life treating
you?”
Lila straightened automatically. “Busy as always. Keeping us on our toes.”
His blue eyes lingered on her a moment longer before flicking to Naomi. “And you must be the famous Naomi. I hear about you everywhere.”
Naomi preened instantly. “Oh? You’ve heard of me?”
Adrian chuckled, sliding his hands into his pockets. “Of course. I make it a point to know the people who keep the hospital running.”
His gaze returned to Lila. Softer. “We couldn’t do it without you.”
Her throat tightened. Compliments never sat comfortably. “We just do our part.”
“Well, your part is essential.” His smile lingered before he moved on.
As soon as he was out of earshot, Naomi whistled. “Girl. He so has a thing for you.”
“Don’t start,” Lila muttered. But her pulse hadn’t settled.
By five, her shoulders ached and her feet throbbed. She gathered her bag while Naomi rattled on about dinner plans.
“Come with me. New tapas place on Sixth. Drinks, food, fun.”
“I just want to go home,” Lila said.
“You’re always tired.” Naomi mock-glared. “Fine. But you’re not allowed to just sit there journaling all night. Promise me you’ll at least watch a movie.”
“I’ll consider it,” Lila said with a faint smile.
Outside, the air was cool, tinged with the scent of rain. She wrapped her cardigan tighter and walked toward the subway, the city alive with honking cars, chatter, and footsteps.
She passed a pawn shop window cluttered with tarnished jewelry, guitars, and a row of antique clocks. Her steps slowed. Their hands ticked unevenly, imperfect heartbeats. Her brother used to collect clocks like that, cheap flea market finds lined up on his windowsill. He would laugh about how none of them kept time exactly the same. Each has its own heartbeat, he’d said.
A lump rose in her throat. She tore her gaze away. Not tonight.
Descending the subway steps, her phone buzzed. A message from Naomi lit the screen: Movie night this weekend. No excuses. I’ll bring wine.
Lila smiled faintly as she tucked the phone away. The day had been ordinary. But ordinary was what she needed. For now.
- Writer
